The Birds Who Smile
by Raberba girl
Summary: "Dark Nights: Metal" AU where Bruce adopts three of the Robins who once belonged to the Batman Who Laughs. (First 41 installments have been revised; side-stories have been re-arranged.)
1. Chapter 1

The Birds Who Smile

(rough draft; 2nd edition)

A Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Summary: "Dark Nights: Metal" AU where Bruce adopts three of the Robins who once belonged to the Batman Who Laughs.

 **A/N: This fic contains numerous potential triggers, only some of which are warned about. Three of the major characters are survivors of horrific abuse and therefore have a lot of painful memories and baggage to work through.** If you still want to read the story but are worried about specific triggers, you can ask me and I'll tell you if this fic has them or not.

 **This fic is not canon-compliant.** Before actually reading "Metal," I got hit hard with this fic idea when I saw a couple of out-of-context panels of the Batman Who Laughs and his pet Robins. I am using Rebirth as my baseline, but am also borrowing elements from pre-Flashpoint, New 52, and other DC media.

 **PLEASE READ THIS FANFIC ON AO3.** I had to censor parts of it on FFN (and even, to a lesser extent, on DA) because FFN's rules are _ridiculously_ uptight. I also just really hate FFN and only continue posting there for redundancy.

Chapter 1

It was over. The multiverse had been raised back into the light, the Dark Knights were gone for good, and now it was time to focus on the long, painful task of rebuilding Earth's ravaged cities-

-as well as figuring out what to do with the three surviving dark Robins who had been left behind.

They were crouched around their dead brother, crowing softly. Only one of them, the smallest, was watching the heroes. The largest Robin was patting the dead one's face, his claw-like nails nicking skin, as the third Robin gnawed on the dead one's limp fingers.

Batman felt too sick to even look at them. It was Nightwing who finally approached, crouching a few feet away from the creatures and holding out his hand. "Dickie," he called.

The biggest Robin jerked his head up and fixed his eyes on Nightwing.

Now Batman _really_ felt like he was going to throw up. If these _things_ , these perversions, truly were his sons from an incredibly broken world, he wanted to die.

Nightwing swallowed, but his voice was as gentle and encouraging as ever. "Come here. C'mere, Dickiebird~"

The Robin took two cautious, cat-like steps toward him, then paused.

"Jason?" Nightwing tried.

The gnawing Robin dropped his dead brother's hand and hissed.

"...Jay. It's okay, Jaybird. Timmy, come here. It's okay."

The little one's eyes brightened. He started to approach, but glanced back at his hesitating brothers and stopped, then crouched low, as if waiting for orders.

Nightwing edged closer and started to reach for the handle of the leashes that had been staked to the ground, but the smallest Robin screeched, and the other two snarled and lunged at Nightwing, forcing him to leap back.

Both groups stared at each other for a moment, at a standoff.

Nightwing finally moved close to Batman and murmured, "I think it needs to be you."

" _No_."

"Bruce, please. How are we going to get them out of here otherwise?"

"There are ways."

" _Please_. If it works the way I think it will, this will be safest."

He knew Nightwing was right. Still, he was fighting nausea as he straightened up and moved, step by reluctant step, toward the handles. Two of the Robins remained completely still, their eyes fixed on him; the other one - Jason's counterpart - shrieked and backed away, jerked when he hit the leash's limit, and started clawing at the collar around his neck, heedless of the blood this produced. " _CROW! CROW! CROW! CROW!_ "

Batman couldn't bear the sound anymore; he seized the leather handle with its four chains and ripped it free of the earth. The terrified Robin instantly went as still, silent, and glassy-eyed as a doll. The chains clinked as the oldest and youngest Robins crept close and clung to their new master's legs, cooing like doves.

"Get off me," Batman ground out through clenched teeth, but nothing happened.

" _crow_ "

" _crow_ "

Nightwing cautiously approached, and this time, none of the Robins attacked or threatened him. He reached down to the dead boy and carefully unfastened the collar from his neck. "What do you want to do with this one?"

 _'Burn it,'_ Batman wanted to say, but he knew the ravaged little corpse was far more valuable for study, and deserved a proper burial after that. No matter what monstrosity its dark master had twisted it into, it was still a child who had been unspeakably victimized. "Put it- him, in the preservation chamber in the Batwing." He turned away and tugged on the chains. "Come."

The two at his feet followed like obedient puppies; the distant one dragged himself after them like a zombie.

When they joined the others by the plane, the true Robin looked at the chained ones with open revulsion, Red Robin with horror. Red Hood's expression was hidden by his helmet, but his voice contained a mix of incredulity and resignation. "Seriously, B? Your pathological need to adopt half the stray brats you find is _that_ bad?"

" _crow_ "

"They're my responsibility," Batman ground out.

" _crow_ "

" _crow_ "

"I refuse to accept these vile specimens as brothers," Robin snapped.

"I'm not asking you to, Robin. Someone just get these things contained while I ready the plane for takeoff."

When Batman tried to pass the leather handle over to Red Robin, all hell broke loose. The second Robin leapt straight for Batman's throat, snarling savagely; the oldest one lunged, fang-like teeth snapping as if he meant to bite off Red Robin's hand; and the youngest one shrieked a frenzied chorus of " _CROW!_ "s as he was dragged across the ground by the neck in the wake of his brothers' aggressive movements.

Everyone was shouting, Red Hood was trying to knock back the dark Robins with strikes they didn't seem to even feel, Robin was beating the one trying to kill his father, and Nightwing and Red Robin were scrambling for tranquilizers.

The sedatives took longer than usual to do their work, but Batman and his sons were all more or less in one piece by the time the second dark Robin, the last to succumb, finally lost his grip and collapsed to the ground beside the other two.

There was a long pause.

"Batman," Nightwing finally said, "don't let go of that handle again."

"They're unconscious now-"

"NO," Red Robin interrupted. " _We_ can fly the plane home, just _stay_ with your little hellspawn and make sure they don't try to kill us again!"

"I'm not the demon child of the family anymore," Robin said, and smiled in satisfaction when both Red Robin and Red Hood ruffled his hair as they passed him.

Two of the dark Robins stayed asleep for most of the flight, but the second one woke up when they'd traveled three quarters of the way. Though he was contained in a cell, he pressed his hands and face against the transparent wall and hissed at Batman.

"Nightwing," Batman called, and only his family would have recognized the tiny note of panic in his voice, "Jason's awake, I need you here."

"I'm not-" Then Red Hood realized his mistake and exploded. "No, NO, we can _not_ call them after us!"

"But they _are_ us," Nightwing pointed out, joining Batman by the dark Robins' cells.

"I do not accept that without thorough DNA testing," Red Robin said tightly.

"They answer to our names," Nightwing continued. He crouched. "Hey there, little Robin. _My_ Jay over there doesn't like sharing his name, so you think maybe we could come up with a different one for you? How about Matthew? Or maybe Danny? André? Octavian?"

" _crow_ "

"Peter?" Batman suggested hesitantly, glancing at his second son.

"Tch. Whatever," Red Hood mumbled.

"Red Robin? Nightwing?"

Red Robin sighed loudly. "I _suppose_ they can use our middle names. Or just Jack, to make it simple."

"Peter~" Nightwing cooed at the imprisoned Robin. "Are you okay with that being your new name, Petey?"

" _crow_ "

"I guess I'm gonna have to learn how to speak Bird, huh."

The newly dubbed Peter raked his nails down the inside of his cell, carving long, thin lines into the transparent material.

"Crap."

Batman reached for the cell's command panel to gas Peter to sleep again before he could claw his way out.

After a while, Nightwing broke the silence. "Bruce...I think it was right to take them with us, but they're going to need...a lot of attention."

"Mm."

"It wouldn't be fair to saddle Alfred with them all by himself, and I doubt you'd want to bring in any outsiders. I'll try to help, but...Blüdhaven, the Titans...I don't know how long I'll be able to stay in Gotham. What do you have in mind for keeping an eye on these little guys 24/7?"

"That won't be a problem."

After waiting in vain for a more detailed explanation, "Care to expand on that? This _will_ affect us, everyone in the family."

Bruce let out a long, quiet exhale. "They're my responsibility. I'll take care of them. I appreciate any help you're able to give, but they're my burden to bear."

"...Okay, so how are you going to raise a trio of psychotic, flesh-eating children _and_ be Batman at the same time?"

"I'm not."

Red Robin and Robin, who had apparently been half-listening, whirled almost in unison and came to join Batman and Nightwing by the containment cells. "What do you mean?!" Robin demanded.

"You can't seriously expect us to believe you're not going to be Batman anymore," Red Robin said.

Bruce, silent but intense, lifted an arm and swept it through the air. _"Out there, all that destruction, everything is my fault,"_ that one gesture seemed to say.

"Bruce," Nightwing said helplessly, "you're not going to let him get into your head like that, are you?"

"You took the Bat and you made it _yours_ ," Red Robin said. " _You're_ Batman. Don't let Barbatos taint all the good you've done."

Bruce ripped off his cowl and opened his mouth, his expression so thunderous that Red Robin flinched slightly and Robin shrank back a little. But the explosion didn't come, and after a long moment, Bruce swallowed whatever he had been going to say. Another moment passed. Then he said through clenched teeth, "The world doesn't need Batman right now. Those three children need me, and I'd rather dedicate myself to them and fail than take another step on a path that _he_ carved out for me."

Red Robin started to speak, but then glanced into the cells and stopped. Robin said in a slightly wavering voice, "I'm your heir. What am I supposed to aspire to if you give up?"

Bruce laid a hand on his son's shoulder. "You will always be my heir. If you really want to keep fighting...crime, darkness, whatever mission you feel driven to...whether with Robin's mask or a different one, you still have my support. All of you do. I just..."

"He needs some time to think," Nightwing murmured. He smiled at the man who was a father to him. "Barbatos may have poisoned Batman for you for a while, but all the lost kids you took in and brooded over, that was all you, Bruce. If this is what you need, to remind yourself that there's something you really are good at, go for it. We get it, and we'll cover for you."

"Not much left to cover," Red Hood spoke up from the cockpit. "Gotham's practically a crater, and the Justice League's not gonna want any non-meta second-raters to fill their vacancy - except maybe you, Golden Boy. If the world will even tolerate anyone operating under a bat symbol anymore. What are we gonna do, set up shop in Blüdhaven and go back to business as usual?"

There was a pause.

"We don't have to decide now," Red Robin said wearily. "Let's just get home and take things one step at a time."

Gotham had been destroyed during what Jason had dubbed the 'Batpocalypse,' and Wayne Manor had been damaged, but the Batcave hadn't suffered much. According to Alfred, the cave was currently more livable than the mansion was, so for the time being, the Batcave was going to have to be the family's home in addition to their base of operations.

"Great," Jason said dryly, "constantly surrounded by darkness and bats. PTSD, here we come."

By the time the plane came to rest in the Batcave, two of the dark Robins were awake. Jack, the smallest, seemed sluggish and continued lying curled up on the floor, glancing up at Bruce with sleepy unconcern as the man opened the cell and re-attached the boy's chain to the leather handle. John, as soon as his cell was open, threw himself at Bruce to bite at him, but the minute his chain was fastened, his conditioning kicked in and he calmed down. His " _crow_ "s now sounded almost curious as he wandered the length of his leash, inspecting whatever was within reach with minimal scratching from his deadly sharp nails.

Bruce, after assuring himself that Peter really was still unconscious, picked him up, careful not to lose his hold on the leather handle. "This is so messed up," Tim muttered as he helped Bruce exit the plane with his awkward load.

"They hurt you..." Bruce murmured, looking at how John had managed to draw blood even through the tough material of Tim's uniform.

"Don't get me wrong, these kids better stay on the damn leashes until they can learn to not claw people up as their default setting, but...it's still messed up."

Dick approached with a dismayed-looking Alfred and Duke following in his wake. Behind them, Jason and Damian were attacking a plate of sandwiches. " _Whew_ , we've got a lot of work ahead of us! Alfred, Duke, this is John, Peter, and Jack, because it'd be too confusing if their first names stayed the same as ours."

Duke swore under his breath at the sight of more victims suffering similarly to how his parents did. "By heaven," Alfred said faintly, bending a little to get a closer look at the Jokerized children. "You did warn me, but seeing them firsthand is..." John, who had been inspecting his hesitantly reaching hand, suddenly snapped his jaws; Alfred managed to snatch his fingers away just in time. "Good Lord."

"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!" John bellowed, the sound of toxin-fueled laughter making the whole family wince. Alfred the cat fled, and Titus started barking frantically, backing away with his tail between his legs.

"Antidote first," Bruce said firmly, laying Peter down on a table in the medbay and securing him with medical restraints. The boy stirred restlessly, apparently nearing consciousness again. "Tim, get blood samples."

"On it."

Drawing the unconscious boy's blood was easy enough, but the other two screeched at almost everyone who tried to come near them with a needle. They submitted only to Bruce, whimpering and crowing in distress, but not daring to attack him as long as he kept his grip on the leather handle. In the back of Bruce's mind, he prayed that he wouldn't have to constantly hold onto the horrible thing for long, that he would have a 100% match antidote in stock to magically cure the boys so they could be children again instead of monsters of his own creation...

 _'Focus, Bruce.'_ "Is there more food, Alfred?" The original plate of sandwiches was long gone by now, though Dick was rummaging around in the makeshift kitchen, probably in search of cereal.

"Yes, of course, Master Bruce." Alfred went to fetch a covered platter from the refrigerator. As he approached with it, John and Jack froze alertly, like hunting dogs that had caught the scent of prey.

Bruce hastily wound the chains around his fists and forearms, but it wasn't enough. When both boys lunged, shrieking, he was dragged after them as if _they_ were the mass of muscle and _he_ was the scrawny child. "NO!" he shouted, which stopped them for exactly two seconds.

Then Jack made an unholy, high-pitched hissing noise and threw himself toward Alfred again, gouging deep scratches in the floor as he fought to get closer; John screamed over and over again, tearing at his own scalp as if he was going even more insane than he already was.

"TRANQ THEM!" Bruce bellowed; then at Damian, who looked like he was about to run the Robins through with a sword, "GET BACK, DAMIAN." A minute later, John was unconscious on the floor, and Jack was breathing as noisily as a sick cow as he fought the effects of the tranquilizer and gradually lost. Bruce could still hear him even over Titus's renewed barking and the wild shrieks of Peter, who was now fully awake and writhing so violently in his bonds that it looked like he was about to hurt himself despite the protective padding.

"H-Him, too?" Tim asked shakily, and obeyed immediately when Bruce barked an affirmative.

Once Damian had ordered his dog to be quiet, silence fell at last. "...Dear God," Dick finally whispered. Duke covered his face with one hand, feeling sick.

"How are we supposed to share living space with those _things_?!" Damian cried, his voice underscored by Titus's frightened whining.

Even Bruce's voice was a bit unsteady. "Tie them down, too, until we can administer an antidote. I'm not going to risk anyone's safety again."

Once the unconscious boys were secured, Alfred went to work treating injuries. Jason and Damian went to bed in the sleeping nooks Alfred had prepared for them; Dick curled up in a chair to listen to music; Tim started sorting through the sea of e-mails regarding Wayne Enterprises, as Duke studied reports on victims of Joker toxin. Bruce tried working on various projects, but couldn't concentrate on any of them. The minute the main computer beeped to signal the completion of the blood tests, everyone dropped what they were doing to gather around it.

"They _are_ us," Tim said in dismay. "Exact copies from that horrible world..."

Dick was more interested in the toxin analysis. "No full matches, but 24-A is close enough to help, at least."

Bruce turned, but Alfred was already on his way to retrieve that version of the antidote from cold storage.

"Do you," Tim said hesitantly, "honestly think those kids have a chance of really being cured? Pretty much all the victims in our world only suffered one dose of toxin, but these Robins...from the look of things, they've been poisoned for months at least, maybe even years."

"You don't have to help me with them if you don't want to," Bruce said shortly.

"Bruce, come on, that's not what I meant."

"We have to try," Dick said with a shrug. "Even if they're lost causes, we have to try. They're family."

Tim sighed deeply. "In a way, I guess..."

The sleeping boys were treated with the antidote, then hooked up to IV lines so they could get some nutrition before Bruce dared to try real food again. Then he sent Alfred and his remaining conscious sons to the makeshift sleeping quarters to get some rest, though Tim opted to keep working on the computer.

"It's late, Tim."

"I won't be able to sleep. Can _you_?"

Exhausted as Bruce was, the last thing he wanted to do was sleep. The nightmares loomed large enough in his mind even when he was awake. "Hnn." He brought a laptop to the medbay so he'd have something to do as he waited for the dark Robins to wake up.

 _TBC_

A/N: Before I read any of "Dark Nights: Metal," I saw a sample page where the Dark Knights first appear. Those poor Jokerized Robins on leashes, fawning over the Batman Who Laughs, instantly seized my attention (similarly to how the dark Bewilderbeast did in HTTYD, when I discovered that he'd been raised by Drago since he was a hatchling). That's when I got the idea for this fic, combed through the Wikis and stuff for all the information about "Metal" that I could find, then finally gave in and just bought what had been published so far of "Metal" so I could read it, instead of waiting for the issues to be collected together like I prefer to do. Since I started writing this fic before "Metal" was completed, of course some of my assumptions about the dark Robins turned out to be wrong, but I wanted to write this fic, anyway. I wish that the dark Robins (evil Damian was the only exception) had been treated like people in canon, rather than props.

Although this fic touches on a few romantic relationships (all from canon), my aim is to keep this story as gen as possible. (As in, there is _one_ couple I ship in the background and two extremely canon couples who insisted on shipping themselves in a couple of chapters, but romance has never been the focus. Now that I'm doing a round of edits, I'm also implementing my "Every Bat I care about is on the ace spectrum except Dick" headcanon.)

When I first started posting this fic, I had not had a good track record for finishing stories, and I thought this would get abandoned a few chapters in. I was hugely surprised when I managed to stick with it. It is now almost exactly one year later and I've written 63 chapters and almost 200,000 words, plus assorted alternate routes and side-stories. Even though there's still a long way to go, I hope very, very much that I am able to see this monster fic to the end!


	2. Chapter 2

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 2 (rough draft 2)**

Damian was the first one to wake up screaming. When Bruce went to him, the boy curled up in his father's lap like a much younger child, until Duke started crying in his sleep. Bruce laid Damian next to Dick and went to sit on the edge of Duke's bed, rubbing his back soothingly until the teen relaxed. Yet the sound of muffled tears could still be heard, and Damian, his own voice quavering, called over his father to comfort Dick. Bruce didn't make it that far before Jason started screaming in his sleep, then Tim started crying even though he was awake...

A few minutes later, Alfred was providing snacks and various drinks for the gaggle of miserable Bats and Birds slumped around the 'kitchen' table. Damian insisted on sitting between his father and favorite brother, with Titus lying on his feet and Alfred the cat in his lap.

"...At least we're all alive," Dick finally said in a dull voice. "Yaaaayyy."

"Batpocalypse sucks," Jason mumbled. "PTSD sucks."

"Being trapped alone in a prison in another dimension for months sucks," Tim said bitterly.

"Joker toxin sucks," Duke muttered.

"Everything sucks," was Damian's contribution.

Duke's comment reminded Bruce of his newest...sons, the ones who weren't sitting at the table with them. Despite Damian's protests, he got up and went to check on the children.

Jack was awake, staring at him as he approached.

"Ah-"

The boy shifted, the pace of his breathing quickening as he started to tremble.

"Jack, I'm not going to hurt you," Bruce said, sensing some of the others coming to join him. Dick came around to stand on the other side of the table. "...Tim. I know your name is Tim, but...is it all right if I call you Jack? I...already have a Tim."

The child continued to stare up at him. For the first time, he seemed truly human, with his eyes full of fear instead of madness. His body would take longer to catch up. The antidote was altering his physiology so that he looked a little less like some dark fae, but his skin was still too pale, his ears too pointed, and his mandible still damaged. Though his face no longer looked like half of it was a mass of fangs, his lips and cheeks were still stuck in a false smile.

"...Are you hungry?"

" _crow_ "

"Jack. I'm going to let your hands free, and _if you're good_ , if you sit quietly and don't try to hurt anybody, I'll give you some solid food."

Small hands clenched into fists and then shakily relaxed.

"I'm undoing the straps now." He freed the boy's right wrist slowly.

For a long moment, the boy didn't move - then he suddenly sank his teeth into his own wrist and scraped downward, drawing blood.

"JACK, _NO_!" At his bellow, a chorus of whimpering from John and shrieking from Peter started up. _'They're awake, too,'_ Bruce thought distractedly.

"Heeee, heeeee," Jack giggled darkly, evading Bruce's hands and shoving his bloody arm against the man's mouth.

" _No_." He held the boy's wrist. "I said don't hurt anyone, and that means _you_ , too."

" _CROW_!" the boy screamed.

"Sssshhh, Jackie," Dick murmured, reaching to stroke the boy's hair, but had to evade a vicious attempt at a bite. "Hey! Not nice!"

"Jack, be quiet," Bruce ordered.

The child looked at him, Joker-smiling and whimpering.

"...All right. Well, you tried to hurt Dick, so he can't give you any food right now, but maybe Tim - my Tim - will give you something if you treat him better."

"Can I...can I take the Dick clone instead?" Tim ventured. Everyone glanced at him. "It's just...this one creeps me out more than the others do, sorry..."

Alfred stepped up and took the boy's hand. "Hello, young man. My name is Alfred."

Jack stared at the man's hand, then slowly moved his face toward it.

"Jack," Bruce said sharply, " _no bite_. Gentle."

Jack chirred softly, still staring at the butler's hand like he wanted to ingest it.

"Let's get you something more appropriate to eat, shall we?" Alfred said, looking unfazed.

Bruce moved on to Peter, who was thrashing in his bonds again. The boy looked up at his master's double and hissed fiercely.

"Peter, I'm not going to hurt you."

"Gguh! Gggggo! GGGO!"

"I will in a minute. Are you hungry?"

The boy went very still, his glare suspicious.

"I'm going to free your hands. If you _don't hurt anyone_ , I'll give you some food."

" _crow_ "

Bruce pointed. "Look at Jack over there." The younger boy was sitting up, clutching a piece of bread in both hands and nibbling messily at it. He smacked loudly as he chewed, his chin flecked with crumbs and saliva. "Jack is being good. If you're good, too, you can eat, just like he is."

Peter's stomach gurgled, and he started to tremble a little. After a moment, Bruce laid a gentle hand on his head. "You're safe, Peter. No one here is going to hurt you."

Peter hissed, but didn't move, so Bruce freed one of his hands. The boy's nails struck at Bruce's eyes and caught instead in the forearm Bruce had thrown up to defend himself. Nails bit deep into flesh as the boy snarled.

"NO," Bruce ordered. Tim pulled at the boy, but Bruce waved him back. Titus was barking fearfully again. "Let go, Peter," he said forcefully.

" _CROW_!"

"Jason. Let go of my arm. Let go of my arm, Jason." He was finally, painfully, able to pull his arm free, and caught Peter's wrist when the boy struck at him again. " _No_. Stop that."

"Hhhhhhhhhhh! _CROW_! Hhh YYYOOOOOUUUUU!" He fought to wrest his hand free. Bruce held on, trying not to squeeze too hard, glancing over to see John crowing in distress and Jack crying in Alfred's arms.

"Look," Bruce said in a conversational tone, "you're upsetting your brothers. Just calm down, Peter, everything's all right, no one's going to hurt you..." He kept talking until the boy finally quieted. He talked a little longer, stroking Peter's hair in what he hoped was a soothing way.

Peter lay still, staring at seemingly nothing, until he suddenly reared up as far as he could and opened his mouth as if he meant to bite Bruce's neck.

Bruce pushed him back in time. " _No_. Do not hurt me."

" _crow_!"

" _crow_ " John echoed nearby, his eyes on the ceiling.

"Peter. Say it, and I'll give you some bread. 'Do not hurt.' Say it."

The boy's cry this time sounded anguished.

"Maybe that's too much... Then just say 'Gentle.' Can you say that? 'Gentle.'"

"... _crow_ "

"Gentle. Gen-tle." He held a slice of bread just out of Peter's reach. "Say it. 'Gentle.'"

"...GGGG-TTT."

"That's good enough for now. Here."

As soon as the bread was within reach, Peter snatched it up with his free hand and crammed almost the entire thing into his mouth.

Bruce gestured for someone to take his place, and Dick sat down by the boy. "Hey there, Petey! Pretty yummy, huh? Alfred always bakes from scratch, it's de~licious."

"Ddeeeessshhh." Peter held out his hand demandingly. Dick laughed and gave him another piece of bread.

The oldest of the dark Robins was chirring softly, pulling at his bonds in a restless, almost absent way. He rolled his head toward Bruce when the man approached. " _crow_ "

"Hello, John."

" _crow_ _crow_ "

"You can call me Bruce. You're safe here. Are you hungry?"

The boy cooed. Though he seemed the least frightened of the three, he also seemed to have suffered most from the toxin. His skin was still nearly white, his face stretched into a more rigid false smile than either Peter's or Jack's were.

Bruce hesitantly reached down and cupped the boy's face, gently rubbing a thumb over his cheek. "Does it hurt?"

"Nnnnnnnn," John murmured, closing his eyes and leaning into the man's touch. Bruce wasn't sure whether it was a word or simply the easiest sound the boy could make.

"Are you hungry, John?"

The child's eyes opened and gazed up at Bruce.

"Would you like some food?"

" _crow_ " It was strange that the boy showed no fear or urgency like his brothers did.

"...I'm going to draw another blood sample."

Duke cocked his head. "You think the antidote's not working as well on him?"

"It's probably just that he was exposed to it the longest, but I still want to see how much of it remains in his bloodstream."

John's crowing turned distressed when Bruce started to get up. "John?"

The boy strained to get free, his eyes fixed on Bruce's.

 _'Let him up and give him some food first, you fool,'_ Bruce thought at himself.

The moment John's arms were free, he wound them around Bruce's neck, nails digging into the back of his shirt as if the boy was anchoring him close. He closed the short gap remaining between them and bit at Bruce's face so gently that even his abnormally sharp teeth didn't break the skin.

"I'm coming right back, John. Let me go for just a minute, and I'll be back soon."

The boy refused to let go, and shrieked when he was detached forcefully, so Bruce gave up and carried him over to the table. John sat cooing in the man's arms, and showed no sign he even noticed when the needle entered his flesh. As Tim set up the computer analysis, Bruce offered a piece of bread to the boy. John snapped it up in his mouth so quickly that he nearly took Bruce's fingers with it.

" _Slowly_ , John. No one is going to take it away from you."

Soon after that, he sent Tim to bed, since the young man was starting to nod off where he sat. By this time, the three Robins had been fed as much as seemed safe for the time being, and since they were no longer, for the most part, attacking everything that moved, the next order of business was hygiene.

"Yep, I'm out of here," Jason said at once, hopping to his feet. "I'm gonna go scout the grounds, flesh out the damage reports. Maybe poke through what's left of the city while I'm at it."

"I'm going with you," Damian said quickly. "The animals could do with some fresh air, anyway. Batcow!" He took the bovine's lead rope and guided her after Jason, with Titus romping around them joyfully at the expectation of going out.

Leaving Dick and Duke to keep an eye on the other Robins, Bruce and Alfred led John over to the tiled chamber that served as a place for the vigilantes to shower and change outfits. Bruce, though knowing it was unlikely, hoped that the Robins knew how to care for themselves at a basic level, but of course the universe was not that kind. The first problem cropped up before John was even undressed.

"This is _deplorable_ ," Bruce hissed, fingers hovering helplessly at the edge of the boy's mask. The thing had been fastened to the child's face for God only knew how long, and it was clearly not going to come off anytime soon. He wondered if it was going to have to be surgically removed. "Do we have anything that could help? Oil, maybe, or...?"

"Let me see." Alfred rummaged through the cabinets and set an armful of jars and packets down on the counter. John sat fairly quietly, looking around and occasionally crowing or cooing, sometimes impatiently swiping Alfred's hands away, as the two men tried to ease the battered mask away from his skin. Over half an hour later, they'd only succeeded in teasing up some of the edges, and Dick was poking his head into the room, reporting that Peter was screaming and Jack was crying and Duke was on the verge of quitting.

Bruce felt harassed. No matter how often it happened, it seemed like he always forgot how stressful parenting a brood of challenging children could be. "We can't even get this damn _mask_ off," he vented. "It's been glued to his face for months- years?! What monster would _do_ that to a child - oh, that's right, _I_ fucking would, that fucking _bastard_ who tortured these children was ME, that-!"

Dick and Alfred both looked like they were about to interrupt Bruce's furious self-loathing, but John beat them to it, smacking his palms against Bruce's cheeks and pushing painfully upward. "HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

"...That only makes it worse," Bruce muttered as he tugged the boy's hands away. All the same, it chastened him to see John trying to get him to stop shouting.

"I'll...give the kids some candy, I bet they'll calm down," Dick said, backing gently out of the bathroom.

"Not too much," Alfred called after him.

Bruce sighed and sat back. "Fine. Forget about the mask. Maybe hot water will help."

Although John did not lift a finger to help, he also didn't object in the least to being undressed, which Bruce very firmly chose to believe was because he trusted his new caretakers and felt safe. As Alfred took the filthy Robin outfit away, Bruce led the boy toward a shower station and turned on the warm water. He waited for a moment to see if John would bathe himself, but the delighted boy simply played in the water for a few minutes before Bruce sighed deeply and picked up a bottle of shampoo.

John giggled the entire time he was washed and dried and dressed in fresh clothes, apparently glad to be clean for the first time in who knew how long. Alfred combed the boy's damp, still-green hair as Bruce checked the mask again, disappointed that it didn't seem to be much looser, but glad that the boy's laughter sounded (somewhat) like an actual child's rather than a Joker victim's.

When Bruce finally led John out of the bathroom, he found Duke gone, Jack enthralled by an animated movie, and Dick sitting on the floor, playing a game that involved tossing crumpled bits of paper, as a wary but interested Peter watched from behind a row of cabinets.

Dick looked up and smiled. "Whoooo, look at you~! You clean up nice, Johnny!"

"Heee."

After Bruce had sat John down in front of the movie, Dick approached and asked in a low, more serious tone, "So how's my little clone, besides the mask issues?"

"I'm not sure how to feel about the fact that he's not afraid of me like the others _understandably_ are..."

"Has he said anything yet? Like, words?"

"No," Bruce said heavily. He hoped that the children might someday learn how to speak again, but John hadn't yet uttered anything remotely intelligible, even after the antidote.

"Oh..."

Bruce grasped his arm, torn between irrational guilt and heartache for his son. "I'm sorry, Dick."

"Not your fault," Dick said instantly. "At all. It's fine. Not _all_ Dicks have to be chatty."

In the background, Peter shrieked something at Alfred.

"Pleeeaaase make them shut up," Tim moaned from his sleeping nook.

Bruce nodded at Dick and then went over to help his butler with Peter. "Your turn, kiddo. Let's go take a bath."

" _CROW_!" the boy screamed in objection.

As Bruce and Alfred were dealing with him, Dick went over to his young counterpart. "What's up, Johnny? You liking _Fantasia_ so far?"

" _crow_ "

"Poor kid," Dick murmured, rubbing a gentle thumb over the child's rigid cheek.

"Heeee."

Dick went to ask Alfred for some muscle relaxant, set the jar in a bowl of hot water, then dabbed some of the warmed gel onto his fingers and rubbed it gently into John's cheeks.

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnn," John hummed, immediately turning away from the movie.

"You like that, huh?"

" _coo_ "

When Dick started to reach for more gel, John grabbed his hands and pressed them back against his cheeks.

"Johnny~"

" _coo_ "

"Don't you want some fresh gel? This batch is cooling off."

"Nnnnnnnnn."

Dick sat there, slowly massaging the boy's relaxing cheeks. John, his eyes closed in bliss, continued to pin his hands in place.

"Okay, Johnny, my arms are getting tired, so let's try something different."

The boy did not like being shifted. "Nnnnnn! Nnnnn! _crow_! _crow_! _crow_!"

"Johnny, Johnny, I'm just lying you down, I'll gel you up again in a minute, just...!"

Dick managed to wrestle the boy down and get some fresh, warm gel onto his face before too much damage was done. John lay on his back with his head in Dick's lap, breathing hard, pressing Dick's hands against his cheeks even more firmly than before.

"Not going anywhere, Johnny. It's okay. This is more comfortable, so we can stay like this for a while longer, okay?"

By the time John fell asleep, the unnatural smile was gone. His face, still far too pale and covered with tiny but numerous scars, looked exhausted. Dick wiped off the gel and carried the boy to the bed he himself had slept in earlier, tucking him in tenderly.

"Dickiiiee," Tim mumbled sleepily, "c'n you bring me my tablet?"

"You should sleep some more if you're still tired."

"Can't go back to sleep...don't wanna get up..."

"Let me put some Band-Aids on first, I think one of these is still bleeding a little..." Dick bandaged the 'DON'T STOP PETTING ME' scratches John had left on his arms, then fetched the requested tablet and sat down. He ran his fingers through his little brother's hair as if Tim was a young child rather than in his late teens. Tim didn't object, moving his fingers gracefully over the screen, relaxing more under Dick's touch than during the fitful nap he'd had earlier.

"This family gets crazier every year, huh," Dick murmured, his voice both rueful and affectionate.

Tim snorted.

"Sometimes I wonder what my parents would think of where I ended up."

" _My_ parents would have been aghast, that's for sure."

Dick chuckled. "I'm sure mine wouldn't have objected, at least to the non-vigilante parts. I mean...look at us, we're just as much a circus as Haly's ever was."

"Come one, come all, to a performance like you've never seen before...witness the amazing acrobat who never shuts up, the fate-defying sharpshooter who tames Bizarros, the genius who thought it'd be a great idea to talk Batman back into training child soldiers right after he planned to quit..."

"Heh. We were all gonna end up on the front lines, with or without Batman."

There was a long pause. "God, Dick," Tim finally whispered, his eyes on his damaged young counterpart, who was still captivated by the movie. "It's so _wrong_."

"We'll make it right. That's our job."

Tim curled up, hiding his face in his pillow. His voice was muffled. "...I want my mom and dad."

"Timmy," Dick whispered. There were tears in his eyes as he leaned down to hug his brother tight.

Meanwhile, Bruce and Alfred had been struggling with Peter, who was as defensive as John had been pliant. The boy panicked when they tried to undress him, screaming and violently struggling. When they hesitated, he tore out of their grasp and fled to a corner of the bathroom, hissing and shouting. "Nnnnnnnooo! Nnnnnnnooo! Nnnnnnnooo!"

"Then take your own clothes off, Peter. You need to wash." Bruce went over and turned the shower on. The boy continued to hide from them and scream at them whenever they approached, so they tried retreating from the bathroom entirely. When Bruce peeked in a few minutes later, he saw Peter hunched under the stream of warm water, fully clothed. The boy fled back to his corner when Bruce approached, so the man gave up and waited outside again, discreetly checking every few minutes. When Peter was as clean as he was going to get under the circumstances, Bruce and Alfred went in again to turn off the water and start the exhausting process of cornering Peter long enough to pat him down with towels and sponge the water out of his tattered uniform as best they could.

"My dear boy, I assure you, you will feel much more comfortable in clean, dry clothes," Alfred sighed. It was more to vent than anything else, since he didn't have the heart to force the clearly terrified boy to undress.

" _CROW_! _CROW_! _CROW_!"

Bruce managed to free one hand long enough to say in sign language, _"Fall asleep."_ They would have a chance to get Peter properly clean the next time he was unconscious.

Alfred nodded, making a mental note to include a mild sedative with the boy's next meal.

"Dick!" Bruce called. Then, when the young man arrived, "Help me watch him. Alfred, go get him some food."

Peter, corralled in the corner, kept screaming as he paced. "HHHHHH! _CROW_! HHHHHAAAAHH! _CROW_! _CROW_!" He occasionally lunged at Bruce or Dick a few feet away from him, but then would shy away just as suddenly and cower against the wall. He started to cry, even though neither of his guards approached or made any threatening move. "Nnnnnn!"

"We're not going to hurt you, Petey," Dick said softly.

"Mmama!" Peter suddenly burst out, and sobbed. Dick covered his face, and Bruce's expression became like stone as his heart bled. "Nnnnnnn! Hheeehhp! Mma...ma...!" He hunched down and covered his head, going eerily silent and still.

"Jason," Dick whispered, sounding on the verge of tears himself. "Jaybird, you're safe. We're not going to let anyone hurt you. It'll be okay, Jace."

Alfred came back in with a plate of cheese, crackers, and deli meat. Peter shifted slightly so that one eye peered out from between his arms. At the sight of the food, his voice soared into a whining howl and he beat his head against the wall, then raked his fingernails down the tiles so hard they left streaks of blood.

"Oh God," Dick choked out as he stumbled out of the room, "Bruce...!"

The men were quick to follow. All three of them waited shakily outside for a little while. When Bruce was able to bring himself to look back in, he saw Peter curled up on the floor beside the plate. The remains of the drugged food were trashed, but there wasn't much of it, so it seemed that the boy had eaten the rest. When Bruce risked approaching, he was deeply relieved to find the child asleep. "Alfred...help me clean him up while we have the chance..."

By the time they were done with that, Bruce was desperate to go to sleep, nightmares or no, but there was still one child left to bathe. _'If Jack puts up a fuss, to hell with it. He can stay filthy; I'm going to bed.'_

Jack, however, was easier to deal with than Peter had been, at least once he'd stopped crowing angrily about being pulled away from the movie he'd been watching. He was quite cooperative when they had a go at removing his mask, and Bruce, perhaps due to sleep deprivation and stress, felt hysterically overjoyed when the thing finally came free from the boy's skin with a painful-sounding pop.

"Ugghk!" Jack exclaimed, then rubbed and patted at his face. The mask had left raw marks around his eyes, but at least it was _off_.

"Much better. Much, much better."

"Mmmmmccchh," Jack agreed happily, and it was a few minutes before they could tug his hands away from his face long enough for them to reach his suit.

The boy's relief vanished when he found himself being undressed. He didn't struggle, but he whimpered uncomfortably and trembled.

"We're not going to hurt you, Jack."

The boy whimpered and started to make a long string of bird noises.

"We're not going to hurt you. It's all right."

"Nnuh nnuh nnuh nnuh, nnuh nnuh nnuh..."

He kept trembling as they led him to the shower and eased him into the warm water, but then seemed to be distracted from his fear when they started washing his hair. He got in their way so much, curiously patting and pulling at their hands, that Bruce finally tried squirting some of the stuff into his palm. "Try it yourself, then."

The boy touched the substance to his head and, in a slow, thoughtful way, scrunched his fingers in his hair.

"Good. Keep going, cover your whole head." Bruce demonstrated hand-over-hand, but every time he let go, Jack would bring his hands down to look at and sniff the shampoo. They had to stop him from licking it a couple of times. Then he got too preoccupied playing with the sensation of shampoo and then conditioner between his fingers and palms to interfere when they finished bathing him. He protested when the water was shut off, but cooed happily when they wrapped him in fluffy towels.

"Mmmm. Sssssfff."

"It's soft. This towel is soft and warm and dry."

"Mmmmm. Aaaaiiii."

"Warm. Dry."

"... _crow_ "

"Wwwwaaarrrmmm."

"Wwwrrrrrmmm."

"Dddrrrryyy."

"Ddddyyyy."

Bruce glanced at Alfred hopefully. "Seems like he has a better verbal range than the others."

"Our Tim is a clever one," Alfred said, affectionately caressing the boy's hair, "I daresay Jack here is just the same."

"Jjj'kk. _Uhn_. Jjjj'kkk. Mme. [ _warble_ ] Jjj'kk. Tttmmm. Jjjj'kk. [ _warble_ ] Mmmee. Mme."

"You," Bruce said softly. "Your name was Tim. Now it's Jack."

Jack cocked his head.

Bruce touched his own chest. "Bruce. My name is Bruce."

The boy visibly tensed up. "... _crow_ "

"Bruce. It's all right. You can call me Bruce. I'd like you to call me Bruce."

Jack's breath started to hitch.

"Alfred," Bruce said quickly, indicating the other man. "This is Alfred."

Jack said nothing, but his breathing gradually slowed.

"Yes, my name is Alfred," the butler said gently. "I'm very pleased to know you, Master Jack."

"...Aahfff'dd," Jack whispered.

"Very good, young sir."

" _crow_..."

"You look tired," Bruce said, reaching for the neatly folded pile of clean clothes on the counter. "Let's get you dressed, and then you can rest for a while, all right?"

"Mmmmm."

Bruce tried to hold him so that Alfred could get some underwear and then a pair of pajama pants on him, but the boy squirmed and fidgeted, making it difficult. "I believe he wants to dress himself."

"Is that what you want, Jack?"

"Mmmmm." Yet the boy's hands, so deadly when ripping apart flesh, fumbled with the shaped fabric, and he crowed in frustration the third time the shirt got caught on his nails and slipped from his hands.

"Quite all right, Master Jack."

"Here, Jack, let me hold it for you, and you can put your arms through..."

The boy fell asleep in his new father's arms as Alfred was trimming his nails. Bruce carried him out and settled him beside John, hoping that wasn't a mistake and the boys wouldn't hurt each other when they woke. Alfred the cat jumped onto the bed and sniffed at the Robins.

"Bruce," Dick said plaintively, coming over to the sleeping area, "I need a hug."

Bruce was already feeling particularly parental. It was easier than usual to wrap his arms around his eldest child, grown up as he was now, and just hold him for a while. Dick finally mumbled into his shoulder, "We're gonna get through this, right?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm," Dick sighed, relaxing. After another while, he pulled back and smiled. "I think Timmy needs a hug, too."

"No," Tim mumbled, not looking up from his tablet, but he smiled when Bruce tousled his hair.

"I'm going to bed," Bruce said. "Wake me up if anything happens. Or if...I..."

"At the first sign of a nightmare?"

Bruce grunted and walked over to his sleeping nook, sat down, kicked off his shoes, stretched out, and dropped off to sleep less than two seconds later.

 _TBC_

A/N: The characters surprised me by adding some conversations I hadn't planned. I guess that's a good sign, since I write best when I'm just recording what the characters are doing rather than trying to force things.


	3. Chapter 3, Part 1

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 3.1 (rough draft 2)**

 _Helpless on the ground as his own children rip his entrails out of his body to feast on_

 _"You've never been anything more than my puppet"_

 _Bloody fingers tearing, bloody mouths smacking happily, "_ crow _" "_ crow _" "_ crow _" "_ crow _"_

 _"Look how the entire world crumbles, thanks to your own hard work"_

 _"D-Dick...please..."_

 _"Crow~ old man" his eldest son laughs in response_

 _Jason's fangs in his throat, Tim swallowing pieces of his liver, Damian scooping his eyes out of their sockets, as John and Peter and Jack laugh and laugh and laugh_

 _"My good servant."_

 _"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"_

 _Joker looming over him with that eternal sick smile, rotting face sagging off the infected muscle, "They were MY children all along, didn't you know?"_

 _"_ crow _"_

 _"Please!"_

 _"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"_

 _"Help me!"_

 _"_ crow _,_ crow _,_ crow _, CROW CROW CROW CROW-"_

"Bruce!"

He gasped deeply, staring wild-eyed into Duke's face for a minute before forcing his stiff fingers to unclench from the boy's shoulders.

"You were starting to thrash in your sleep. Wanted to wake you before you set _them_ off." He nodded toward John and Jack, who were curled up together in Dick's bed and starting to stir.

"Mmnnngh..." Bruce sat up and rubbed at his face. "Good." He looked around. Jason and Damian did not seem to be back yet. Alfred, Tim (with the cat curled up on his chest), and Peter were all deeply asleep; Dick was lifting weights in the training area. "Hn."

"Do you have any assignments for me?"

The way he asked it made Bruce squint thoughtfully at him. "Are you bored?"

"You _always_ have an assignment for me."

"Things are different now. There's plenty of busywork, or you can go spar with Dick, but I have no business training sidekicks anymore." _'I never did in the first place...'_ "You can't have had more than three hours of sleep last night, Duke. Go back to bed. Get some rest while you still can."

Both of them glanced at the Robins. John and Jack were now chirring and warbling softly at each other, as if conversing in a private language.

"You got any earplugs?"

Once Duke was settled, Bruce went to investigate his breakfast options (well, closer to lunch by now). His own cooking was terrible, but he was too hungry to care, and he wanted to let his overworked butler rest as long as possible.

The sharp sizzling sound of bacon hitting the hot pan prompted a panicked scream from John. Bruce looked over in concern. The boy was hunched tightly on the bed as his brother patted and chirped at him.

Then the smell began wafting across the cave, and the scent of cooking food awakened Alfred, drew Jack into the kitchen like a moth to flame, and prompted a hopeful "Is it ready yet?" from Dick.

Bruce caught Jack as the boy leaped toward the stove, saving Alfred the trouble of shooing the man away. "You should have told me you were hungry, Master Bruce."

"You were sleeping," Bruce said, struggling with the determined, crowing boy in his arms. "Jack, you can eat _later_. It's not ready yet. You have to wait. _Wait_."

" _CROW_ "

John crept close, looking torn between fear and an animal attraction to the promise of food. Bruce held out an arm, and John curled into his side. "What's wrong, John?"

" _crow_ "

He held both boys until Alfred brought over a tray with four plates full of bacon and eggs. Dick came over with his own plate to help Bruce with the boys. The three men, in between trying to eat their own meals, worked like traffic directors to control the boys' bites, preventing the children from gobbling down all five servings in ten seconds.

Although John acted like he was starving, he was repulsed by meat, flinging bacon off his plate and grabbing at eggs instead. Jack dove to gobble the bacon off the floor, then spat it back out and screamed. He picked up the crumbling, drooly meat again, but Bruce managed to grab him before he could put it back in his mouth.

" _crow_ " Peter called, sleepiness warring with urgency in his voice as he awakened to the smell of nearby food.

"Dammit."

It took several minutes, but they finally managed to establish a routine of sorts. Bruce, Alfred, and Dick each held a Robin; the boys were rewarded with a generous morsel of food if they specifically requested it.

"Jack, ask with words. 'Food, please,'" Bruce prompted.

Jack stared intently at the eggs.

"'Food, please.'"

"FFFOO'PPEEZ," Peter thundered.

Bruce set half a piece of bacon in front of him, which instantly vanished into the child's mouth, but he kept his eyes on the youngest boy. "Jack, say it. 'Food, pl-'"

"FFFOO'PPEEZ!" Peter demanded again.

"Peter, it's Jack's turn. Jack's turn right now. Jack-"

" _CROW_!" Peter screamed.

"Jack. 'Food, pl-'"

"Fffffffoo'pp...fffoo'ppeezz...?"

" _Good_ , good job. Here you go."

"FFOO'PPEEZ FFOO'PPEEZ FFOO'PEEZ," Peter stormed. A large spoonful of scrambled eggs was set on his plate and immediately devoured. "FFOO'PEEZ!"

"You have to wait, it's John's turn now."

" _CROW_! Hhhh yyyou!"

Bruce ignored him. "John... Can you just say 'Please'?"

" _crow_ " It took some coaxing, but the boy, unable to bring his lips together for the 'P' sound, finally managed a soft, "Kkuh-sssss."

" _Good_. Excellent."

John grabbed the chunk of scrambled eggs he was rewarded with, shoved it in his mouth, and giggled.

All the plates were nearly empty by the time Damian and Titus came galloping down the staircase, with Jason ambling after them. "Father! The commissioner's here to see you."

"Gordon?"

Peter took advantage of Bruce's distraction to seize what was left of the food, cram it in his mouth, then break out of Bruce's arms and scamper across the cave. Dick and Jack chased after him; John crawled into Bruce's lap as Alfred gathered up the plates.

"Any left for us?" Jason asked, echoed by Titus's begging stare.

"I'll be happy to make more, Master Jason."

"Make mine a cheese omelet, Pennyworth," Damian ordered, then belatedly remembered to add, "Please."

"As you wish, Master Damian."

The boy went over to where his next-oldest brother was working on the computer again, and retrieved his cat from Tim's lap. "I'm back, Alfred," he cooed. Alfred meowed at him and tucked his head under the boy's chin, purring.

"Bruce," Jason called, "I'm gonna work on security repairs after I eat. I need updated specs."

"Ask Tim," Bruce said distractedly, trying to get John settled in front of a Pixar movie. "Jim's waiting."

"I'm busy," Tim said. "Ask Alfred."

"Alfred's cooking!"

" _I'll_ look them up," Damian said nobly. He settled the cat across his shoulders and sat down at one of the side computers.

"Bruce," Tim said, "I've contacted all the senior management who haven't gone MIA - Lucius and his family are fine, by the way - and we're going to have a video conference at 2:00."

"I don't know if I'll make it or not," Bruce said. John seemed fascinated by the movie, but every time Bruce tried to sneak away, the boy would shriek and grab onto him. "Just have it without me if I can't. Also, when was the last time you ate?"

"Not hungry," Tim mumbled.

Bruce raised his voice. "Alfred, make an omelet for Tim, too."

"Very good, sir."

"Someoooone," Dick called from across the cave, "Heeeeelp..." He was on the ground trying to hold off both Peter and Jack, who were giggling madly as they pulled at his shirt with their teeth and seemed to be under the mistaken impression that ripping it to pieces was a game.

"Jason, please," Bruce begged, completely exasperated. "I've got to go see what Jim wants."

His only unoccupied family member shrugged and nonchalantly headed over to rescue his brother.

"John, _please_ just stay and watch the movie, I'll be _right back_ , the rest of the family is _right here_ -"

" _CROW CROW CROW_ "

o.o.o.o.o

Gotham City had survived so much catastrophe in its long life, it seemed likely that she would rise again from this one, too. Still, it hurt to see what the city had been reduced to once again: shattered buildings, battered survivors, very little electricity or clean water, every corner filled with either misery or silence...

Jim Gordon, on foot because vehicles would be more trouble than they were worth in most cases, descended back to the first floor of the damaged bank and contacted headquarters with his report. He exited the building and headed for the next one, keeping an eye out for any human beings. Whether they were corpses or looters or people in need of help, part of his job was to deal with them as needed.

When he rounded the corner, he found a cluster of people just down the street, near a ravaged hotel. One man sat slumped against the wall; another man and a woman were accepting what looked like care packages from the emergency distribution center that had been set up in the remains of the main GCPD office. All three of the survivors were grimy and battered, which was the new normal. The people who had given them the care packages were unusually clean: a tired-looking young man in nondescript but fairly nice clothes, and a boy in the same state except more energetic. An unleashed dog hovered near the boy, well-behaved, its ears perked in curiosity.

Jim recognized the child, which allowed him to guess the man's identity a few seconds later. "Damian Wayne and Jason Todd."

Jason nodded at the grateful citizens, then approached Jim with his hands in his pockets. "So you're still alive, huh," he remarked.

"Sorry to disappoint you."

Jason shrugged. "Not disappointed. It's actually good to see you."

"What do you want, Gordon?" Damian asked, probably not even realizing how insulting his tone made the simple question sound.

Jim was used to it by now, so he just smiled. "To talk to your father, actually."

The two young men exchanged a glance.

"Is he at the manor? I've heard rumors he's back in town."

"You couldn't guess from the freaking paparazzi who keep trespassing on our private property?" Jason said dryly. He nodded his head at the city. "All _this_ to report on, yet they're wasting everyone's time going after Bruce frickin' Wayne..."

"I haven't had time to stop by the mansion myself," Jim said. "How is...everyone?"

"We're fine."

"Really? The past few weeks have been..." Jim debated for a moment how much to say. "Seems like your family would have been caught in the thick of it."

"We're _fine_."

Damian caressed the dog's head and grumbled, "'Not dead' does not necessarily equal 'fine.'"

Jim looked at him sympathetically. "I figured your father might be having a difficult time right now."

"He won't be showing up to the police station anytime soon, if that's what you mean," Jason said. "Unless it's to help hand out care packages or something, but he's got his hands pretty full right now."

"With Wayne Enterprises?" Jim asked, in a tone that invited explanatory refutation.

"Heh. Something a little closer to home."

"I thought you all were exaggerating Father's tendency to 'collect orphans,'" Damian pouted, "but I see now how that hobby of his could be called an addiction."

Jim blinked. "Wait... There's _another_ one now?! A minor?! In addition to the Thomas boy?!"

"It's complicated..."

"It's bad enough having them underfoot at home," Damian complained, "he'd better not start taking them out at night, too."

 _'_ _Them_ _, plural?!'_ Jim was all for displaced children finding loving, permanent homes. However, it was worrisome when the loving, permanent home in question happened to be run by a man who, Jim was 99% certain, was the same one who jumped around Gotham's rooftops in a bat costume every night and employed a succession of underage sidekicks. "I need to see your father."

The boys drove him out to Wayne Manor, which they had to approach through a side gate in order to avoid the handful of paparazzi milling at the front.

"Our security system's a mess," Jason said as they crossed the grounds. "The main part of the house is secure, but so far we've caught three trespassers, and I think there's been some looting in the damaged wings."

"We need to fix that _today_ ," Damian said angrily. "That's my inheritance they're stealing from."

"Beats babysitting the hellbirds," Jason agreed.

Jim did not know what to make of it when they came across a cow, of all things, grazing just beyond the gardens. Damian greeted and caressed her for a minute before continuing on.

"I...didn't know Bruce Wayne kept cattle," Jim said cautiously.

Jason grinned. "There are a lot of things about Bruce Wayne you don't know."

 _'Lord help me, that's true.'_

The boys left Jim in the parlor and then disappeared into the depths of the house. Silence descended, and Jim wandered a little as he waited. Though the room was still fairly clean, it was different than when he'd last seen it. There were no pictures or flowers, the walls and the giant mirror over the mantle were cracked, a few panes of glass were missing from the windows, and the air was stale.

Finally there was the sound of approaching footsteps, and an exhausted-looking Bruce Wayne entered the room, leading a child by the hand. The boy looked to be about nine or ten years old and a probable victim of Gotham's criminal freaks: he was marked by green hair, pale skin, and a mouth that was filled with too-sharp teeth and kept twitching up into a sickeningly familiar smile. His eyes were covered with what looked like a domino mask, though the edges had been unevenly cut away.

"I had to bring him," Bruce muttered. "Separation anxiety."

"Bruce," Jim whispered.

" _crow_ "

"John, this is Jim Gordon," Bruce said wearily. "Can you say hello?"

" _cooo_ ~" The boy was heading straight for Jim without pausing.

Bruce tugged to keep the child from getting too close. "Don't touch without permission, John."

" _crow_ "

That sound. The mask. The body type and the associations... "Dear God, Bruce, don't tell me this is one of the things that attacked Arkham!"

"Jim." There wasn't a trace of 'Bruce Wayne' in that word - it was filled with warning from a darker persona.

"Just- Explain to me, just _explain_ to me what's going on, for God's sake!"

Forbidden from inspecting the interesting thing he had been introduced to, John looked around at the rest of the room and tugged restlessly until Bruce released him. The boy wandered about, crowing curiously.

"Stay in the room, John." Bruce turned back to Jim. "I...found three of them. They're _children_ , Jim, damaged. He... They need help. I had to take them. I won't let them hurt anyone."

There was a long silence, broken only by an occasional " _crow_ " in the background.

"...Bruce," Jim said carefully, "it's wonderful that you have such a compassionate heart for children." He lifted his hand warningly. "But there are already far too many kids out on the streets at night, and I need you to promise me-"

"Jim."

" _Bruce_."

"..."

"..."

" _crow_ "

"...Jim, it's never been planned." He blinked as if a guilty thought had just occurred to him, then cleared his throat and continued. "I have no intention of sending these new ones out at night. In fact, I myself am going to be spending more time at home for the foreseeable future-"

There was a crash. The two men whipped toward the sound as John started shrieking, backing away from the broken vase with his arms flapping as if he was trying to take flight. " _CROW_! _CROW_! _CROW_! _CROW_!"

"John-"

" _CROW CROW CROW CROW CROW_!"

Bruce tried not to look threatening as he approached, but John had backed into a corner with his arms wrapped around himself. The boy slid down to huddle on the floor, his face stretched back into a full Joker's grin. "HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

"John. John, it's all right. It was an accident, you're not in trouble."

The boy rocked back and forth. "Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

"Johnny."

The child dove at him and clung to his legs, shaking. " _crow_! _crow_! _crow_...!"

"It's all right. Come here."

" _crow_! _crow_! _crow_!"

With some difficulty, since the boy wouldn't straighten up from a crouch, Bruce led him back to his chair. He sat down and was about to take John's hands, but the boy burst into a flurry of movement, diving at Bruce and then ducking behind the chair and then trying to bite him and then clawing at himself. Bruce finally managed to grab him and hold him still. John huddled at his feet for a minute, shaking, then clutched at Bruce's legs and looked up at him.

" _crow_ "

"Everything is fine. Calm down."

"Heeheeheeheeheeeeeeeeee."

When Bruce ran a hand through his hair, the boy leaned against him. A few minutes of scalp massaging later, John was slumped half in Bruce's lap, silent and relaxed, with the hem of his father's shirt clasped in his hand.

Bruce exhaled and looked back up at his guest, fingers still working gently through John's hair. "As I was saying. They're a handful, so I'm staying home for a while to take care of them."

"Hm." Jim had watched the whole thing without a word, weighing his thoughts against each other. "What about that little apocalypse we just had? Can you tell me anything about that?"

Bruce sighed again, but dutifully gave his old friend the best explanation he could without breaking their long-held pretense.

 _TBC_


	4. Chapter 3, Part 2

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 3.2 (rough draft 2)**

Jason's attempt to pull his young double off of Dick resulted in the boy turning on him. Peter snarled and attacked viciously, then blinked in confusion when he found himself dazed on the ground.

"Wanna try that again? Come at me," Jason challenged, taking up a martial arts stance.

Peter shook his head to clear it and leaped at Jason again, only to receive another precise strike. " _crow_!" This time he circled craftily before attacking, but Jason was still ready for him with a block and a kick.

Peter growled in frustration, but now he was watching his opponent closely instead of blindly attacking.

Dick, meanwhile, fetched a bag of dried fruit and tucked it in his pocket, then warmed up a jar of muscle relaxant. Though all three boys had been treated with it hours before, their faces were starting to stiffen again. "All right, here we go."

Jack backed up a couple of steps and yelped in protest when Dick touched his face, but then he went still as the warm gel was rubbed into his cheeks.

"You like that, Jackie?"

"Hhnnnnnnn."

Jack touched his own cheeks, dabbling his fingertips in the gel between Dick's fingers and then inspecting the substance closely.

"Ack, Jackie, don't eat it! Let's get that out of your mouth, kiddo; yucky."

The gel had to sit for a few minutes to work effectively, but Jack wouldn't stop touching his face, so Dick distracted him with a hand game. "Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man..."

Jack giggled, and caught on to the motions after a few repetitions. When enough time had passed, Dick coaxed the boy into the bathroom and wiped his face clean. "Okay, now it's time to brush our teeth." He demonstrated the task for Jack, who looked fascinated, then helped the boy do it himself.

"Mmmm, feels so fresh and clean, right? Let's get your brother."

They found Jason running through a basic kata with Peter, whose movements as he imitated his older counterpart were clumsy but focused.

"Teaching the killer babies even more ways to hurt people. Nice."

"It's _discipline_ ," Jason insisted. "Martial _arts_ instead of mindless destruction-"

"I know, I know, Jay! I was teasing you. I think it's a good idea, actually." Dick set down the bowl he was carrying, scooped up some gel, and wiggled his glistening fingers at Peter. "Petey~! Your turn!"

" _crow crow crow_!" the boy started to shriek, but then froze, his arms suspended in midair, at the pleasant sensation of muscle relaxant being massaged into his face. He had been unconscious the last time it had been applied.

"[ _caw_ ]," Jack said, "gggg'ddd."

"Feels gooood, doesn't it," Dick cooed.

"Hhnnn!" Peter looked like a cat unwillingly succumbing to chin scratches. He closed his eyes and leaned slowly away, humming deep in his throat, tense but not fighting.

"I'm heading out again," Jason said. He chucked Peter lightly on the shoulder. "Be good, kid. Not too good."

Dick, as he had with John hours before, kept his hands in place longer than necessary, gently massaging, until the gel had done its work. Then he cleaned it off and announced, "Time to brush teeth, kiddo."

He needed help for that, since Peter started putting up a fight when he found himself being led to the bathroom. Alfred, having had less than three hours of sleep, had gone back to bed after washing the dishes, so Dick called to Duke and Damian.

"We're busy," Damian protested, looking up from the printouts he'd spread all over the temporary kitchen table.

Duke elbowed him. "Come on, man. Your brother needs help." The reproach in his tone was enough to shame even Damian Wayne, who followed the older boy without further argument.

"Look, Petey," Dick said. "Your big brothers are gonna brush their teeth, too." He grinned at Damian. "You need to, anyway."

"Hmph. I was _going_ to."

Peter watched suspiciously from the entryway.

"Aaaand they're done! Now it's your turn, Peter."

" _crow_!"

Jack spoke to him in a series of birdlike sounds. Peter, still tense, moved step by reluctant step as Dick held his hands and guided him over to a sink.

 _"[caw], all clear, safe,"_ Jack repeated in the Robins' language.

"If you brush your teeth," Dick said, "you can have a treat." He held up a bit of dried peach, but pulled it out of the way when Peter swiped at it. "Brush teeth first."

That did it. Peter scrubbed his teeth with a vengeance, then violently grabbed the fruit out of Dick's hand and stuffed it in his mouth, apparently unbothered by the combined taste of dried peach and toothpaste.

"Dang it," Dick said ruefully as he looked at the new scratch on his hand. Damian rolled his eyes and pulled some ointment and bandages out of a drawer.

After Dick's brothers had returned to their project, he led the two Robins over to an open area beside a table, where he set down his phone. "Who's up for some exercise?"

"Kksss," Jack said experimentally.

"Ex. Er. Cise."

"Ee'kk, urrr-"

"KKSSERSSSSAI!"

"-ssszz."

Dick laughed and gave them both bite-sized pieces of fruit from the bag in his pocket. "All right, copy me!" He hit the start button on his 'Bouncy Jamz' playlist and started to make graceful, repetitive movements.

Peter, as usual when food was involved, participated aggressively. Jack just stood there, staring, through half of "Call Me Maybe" before dubiously starting to mimic Dick as best he could.

 _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*],"_ Dick declared to his new little brothers, _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]"_

"Richaaaaaard!" Damian wailed from the other side of the cave. "If I have to listen to one more bar of that infernal _noise pollution_ -!" Dick started boogieing in his direction. Duke, seeing where this was going, threw up his hands and backed away. "No, what are you doing?! Get away from me!" Damian struggled in his oldest brother's arms. "Richard!"

"Ha ha ha ha ha," Peter chortled at the sight of someone else being forced to do something against their will for a change, and Jack clapped his hands.

 _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]...!"_

"UNHAND ME AT ONCE."

Tim, in the middle of a phone call with a company executive, gritted his teeth and switched to a headset that would block out background noise.

At some point during the commotion, the playlist moved on to the next song. Dick, still laughing, returned to the Robins to find Jack eagerly vocalizing. _"Mmuh muh muh muh."_

"Heh. You like this song better than 'Call Me Maybe'?"

"Ohhwohwoh."

"Nnah nah nah," Peter added, apparently intrigued by the sound of the harsh, rhythmic syllables.

 _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*],"_ Dick sang, starting to dance again.

 _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*],"_ the song continued. _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]-"_

"PPUH PUH PUH PUH," Jack suddenly bellowed, relishing the sound and feel of his lips smacking together.

"Wow, you guys _really_ like this song."

By the time it ended, both boys were singing along in their own way, hopping in excitement as they copied or made up repetitive syllables. Dick paused the playlist before it could move ahead. "Do you guys want to hear it again?"

" _CROW_!"

"This song is called 'Poker Face.' Do you want to listen to 'Poker Face'?"

"PPO PO PO!"

"All~righty, then, here we go!"

o.o.o.o.o

The two men talked for a while longer. John cooed in pleasure, and batted demandingly at Bruce's hand whenever it paused in its ministrations.

When the doorbell rang, Jim got to his feet and said, "Well, I need to get back to work, anyway. I'll let you get back to yours."

Bruce walked him to the front in order to both let him out of the house and see who was on the front steps (with the security system only partially functioning, there wasn't a way to enforce most of the estate's boundaries). He kept a firm hand on John's shoulder, ready to hold the boy back if he decided to lunge.

Jim Gordon had seen many strange things in his life, but he was still startled to find himself face to face with two clearly not-fully-human young women. The dark one was draped in a feathery black cloak and hood, her red eyes glowing slightly in an unsettling way. The orange-skinned one had solid green, also glowing eyes, and a curtain of red hair that literally snapped and crackled like flames.

"Eeeeeeeeeeee!" John cried in delight, making grabby hands at Starfire.

"Hello, little one!" she exclaimed in surprise. Before Bruce quite knew how it had happened, John was in Koriand'r's arms, nuzzling her face and playing with her hair as she traced a curious finger over his mask and teeth.

"John," Bruce said in exasperation, " _ask_ first."

"I feel like I know him," Kori remarked, looking both confused and fascinated.

"It's a long story. Come in, both of you." Bruce nodded at Jim, who returned the gesture and headed down the long driveway toward the gates.

"We've come looking for Robin," Raven explained.

"Yes, I assumed as much." Bruce led the ladies downstairs, where he was glad to find that Alfred had used earplugs before going back to bed, since Dick, Peter, and Jack were apparently having a dance party on the other side of the cave.

 _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*],"_ Dick was singing.

"PO PO PO PO PO PO PO PO PO PO PO," Peter and Jack accompanied in gleeful unison.

 _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]!"_

"PO PO PO PO PO PO PO PO PO PO PO!"

"Ggo go go!" John exclaimed in the closest approximation he could manage, and ran to join his brothers.

Dick, still singing, held out his hands invitingly to his young double. The boy grabbed them and shrieked happily as he and Dick danced together. Bruce watched his family for a while, experiencing a rare moment of contentment.

"Whoa!" Dick noticed the alien princess flying toward him just in time, and brought up his arms to catch her. "Kori!"

"My dear friend!" she cried, hugging him tightly. "Gotham has been destroyed. We were so worried, Dick!"

"I was worried about _you_ \- you had a Joker smile the last time I saw you."

"It is not I who has the 'Joker smile' now," she said, and cupped her hands gently around John's face.

"Oh, speaking of which-" Dick went to fetch the muscle relaxant.

The minute John saw it, he dashed over, pushed Dick to sit on the floor, flopped down on his back, and looked up at Dick expectantly. "Heeeee!"

"You are _ready_ , huh."

In the meantime, Tim was hugged by a nearly crying Raven. "Oh, Timothy! We heard you were alive, but seeing you again with my own eyes..."

"It's good to see you, Raven," he said, returning the embrace. "How is everyone? I heard the team's back together." He glanced at Damian over her shoulder. "'Cause my little brother stole it."

"I didn't _steal_ your team, Drake," Damian huffed. "You weren't using it anymore. I _revived_ it."

"Yeah, by kidnapping all your founding members. That's the kind of thing super-villains or amoral government agents do, Damian!"

"It was for their own protection!"

"Didn't you capture Jon, too, when you first met him? Is kidnapping people your idea of making friends or something?"

Raven, ignoring the squabbling, stepped back and politely held out her hand to Duke. "Hello. My name is Raven."

"Duke Thomas. You're...one of those Teen Titans?"

"Yes. Starfire and I came to check on Robin."

"I called you and said I'd be taking an indefinite leave of absence," Damian pointed out.

"Yes, but after all that's happened, we are still worried about our friends, Damian," Raven explained patiently.

"I can tell," he said in a sour tone. "That's why you two went straight for Richard and Drake instead of me, right?" He looked over at Dick and Kori, but was taken aback by the way they were both gazing at him. Their expressions were almost parental, as if one of the things that bonded them was the shared love they had for a particular child. "A-Anyway," he said, "we're all fine here, as you can see."

"Do you need any help?" Raven asked Tim. "Most of the team's working to rebuild their home cities like you and Damian are. Since Starfire and I don't really have home cities, we've been visiting the others, doing what we can for a few days before moving on."

"Gotham can use all the help it can get right now. Maybe you can go out with Damian and see what's most needed in town."

Meanwhile, Dick was crooning at John in between chatting with Kori. Bruce checked in with Duke and then Tim, then sat down heavily in a chair by the computers. He was so tired. Though Jack was still occupied by Dick's playlist, trying to mimic the sounds, Peter lost interest without Dick's energy and treats to motivate him. He made his way over to Bruce, stopped a cautious distance away, and said, "Ffoo'ppeez."

"You ate less than an hour ago." Still, it was important to reward the boys' efforts at appropriate communication, so Bruce levered himself back out of the chair and went looking for a snack to give to Peter.

"Ffoo'peez!"

"Yes, yes, Peter, I'm getting it."

 _TBC_

 **A/N: Ftr, I don't condone the messages of songs that are about sex and stuff. I used them in this chapter because it happened to come on the radio at work while I was thinking about this fic, and the repetitive syllables were too perfect to resist.**


	5. Chapter 3, Part 3

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 3.3 (rough draft 2)**

A/N: The new issue of "Metal" was so good! That part where Bruce found the strength to go on by thinking about his children, aaaahhh! 8D Almost worth the price of the chapter all by itself. And I love seeing a canon writer portray Clark & Bruce's relationship as the bromance it should be rather than a rivalry.

o.o.o

John, just as he had before, fell asleep as his face relaxed. Dick finished up, carried the boy across the cave, set him down on his bed...then just stayed there for a minute, bracing his hands on the mattress. Finally he gave in and lowered himself the rest of the way, pulling blankets over both himself and John.

"You are tired?" Kori said, affectionately brushing a lock of hair out of Dick's face.

"Went to bed at two," he mumbled, "woke up at five. 'S catching up with me now."

She leaned down to kiss his temple. "Sleep well, dear friend."

"'Night, Kori."

"It is after the noon," she laughed. She smoothed his hair one last time and then went to join the others.

Bruce had rallied himself and was starting to take charge again. "Damian, find Gordon and introduce him to Starfire and Raven. He'll know where they can be most useful, but then I need you to come back and help Jason secure the grounds. Duke, you can either stay and look after the boys, or join the Titans in town, it's your choice."

Duke knew what he'd _rather_ be doing, but the sense of duty he felt toward victimized family members was too strong to ignore. "I don't... I have no idea how Dick knows what to do with them, but I'll...stay. I'll do my best."

Bruce set a grateful hand on his shoulder. "I'm not expecting you to be Dick. If you can just get one of them interested in watching you play a video game so that I can work with the other one, even that would be helpful."

Damian looked around for his dog, and found the uncomfortable-looking Great Dane edging away from Peter, who was stalking him. "Titus!" The dog gratefully bounded to his young master's side. Peter chased after him, then yelled when he was caught by Bruce.

"Peter, be nice to the animals. All of you, get to work. Tim, I'll try to join you by two." Bruce looked down at the tense, snarling boy in his arms. "Peter. I want to work on that mask some more."

" _crow_ "

Bruce carefully touched the edge of the boy's mask, and Peter flinched. "Peter, I want to get this off. Please let me try again."

The boy resisted, but didn't struggle as much as Bruce knew he was capable of until they passed the bathroom threshold. Then Peter started writhing in earnest, choking out sounds that were probably words but were too garbled for Bruce to understand.

"Peter...Peter, I'm not going to hurt you... Is it the clothes? You can stay dressed, it's only the mask I want off. I'm pretty sure you don't want this thing on your face, either."

Duke came into the bathroom with a handheld video game console in his hand.

"Where's Jack?"

"Seems to be doing okay on his own with Dick's phone. I put it in Child Mode and sat him over by Tim."

"Nnnoo! Llluggh...lluggomme...!"

"Peter, please."

"What are you trying to do?"

"The _mask_. Peter, all you have to do is _sit_ here, just for a few minutes, I _promise_ I'm not going to hurt you..."

Back by the computers, Tim was so in the zone of answering e-mails, reading documents, and holding text conversations with four different people simultaneously, that it was a while before he noticed Jack methodically babbling to himself. "Gguh gguh guh guh guh...oh mmo mo mo mo..."

Tim paused to watch the little boy for a moment.

"Ffoo'ppah ffoo'ppah ffoo'ppah...ddeessha ddeessha ddeesha..."

"You're teaching yourself how to talk again," Tim realized.

Jack looked up at him. "Ddaa'gguen."

Tim took Dick's phone out of the boy's hands.

"MMAI! MMAI!"

"I'll give it back, just wait!" His fingers flew over the screen for a minute, then he handed back the device.

 _"A is for apple, ah ah ah,"_ the phone sang, displaying an accompanying picture of an apple. _"B is for baseball, buh buh buh..."_

Now that Jack was occupied with a playlist and activities that were more directly suited for teaching language skills to beginners, Tim returned to work.

In the bathroom, Peter gradually shifted from panicked struggling to mild resisting. Bruce, one-handed but with Duke's help, fumbled through the basket of jars and packets Alfred had collected earlier, and gently touched oil-covered fingertips to Peter's face until the boy finally stopped jerking away. Peter, trembling, still restlessly moved his head, but slow enough now for Bruce to follow him and keep working at the edges of his mask. The boy made it quite clear whenever Bruce accidentally pressed too hard. At last Peter sat still, tense and unhappy but no longer hindering. He mostly watched Duke and the video game in his hands, only occasionally shaking his head like a horse swishing away flies.

Bruce talked, partly to keep Peter calm and partly to distract himself from the frustrating and extremely boring work. He ran out of things to say very quickly, so he fell back on recounting old cases. "...I knew he was lying, but there wasn't a way to prove it without breaking into his office. So the next night-" Maybe he shouldn't be condoning burglary to a child who already had severe socialization issues. "So... Well, in the end, I found the evidence I needed, and he's still in jail to this day. Now I'm going to tell you how I met Superman."

Peter had no reaction to this announcement, but Duke looked up with an interested expression.

Halfway through the story, Tim called loudly, "Bruce, it's 2:00."

 _'Already?'_ "I'll be there soon, start without me." He looked back down at the child. He'd managed to loosen much of the mask, which was still partially stuck to Peter's face but now had broad edges lifted away from his damaged flesh. "Good job, Peter. Duke, can you get-?"

Duke might not have been a natural at caring for children with special needs, but if there was one thing he'd learned from Dick, it was to always have a reward on hand. He reached into his pocket, took out a cracker from the package he'd had the foresight to arm himself with earlier, and handed it to Bruce.

"Good job sitting still, Peter. This is for you."

Peter stared at the cracker for a moment as if wondering if it was a trap, then seized it and gobbled it down.

"Now I'm just going to cut away these loose parts, and later-"

"Kkkkk?!" Instantly, the panic was back.

"Peter, _Peter_ , all right, I won't cut anything!" _'While you're conscious.'_ "Stop, I'm not going to hurt you."

" _CROW_!"

"I'm not going to cut it now."

"NNO KKKKUH! NNO KKKUH!"

"No cut."

Peter glared at him suspiciously.

Bruce repeated it, this time adding _"Will not cut"_ in sign language.

 _"...Will not cut,"_ Peter imitated.

"Give him another cracker."

Peter snatched it out of Duke's hand and fled.

"Duke-"

"I'll get him."

Bruce sighed deeply and got to his feet, paused to make sure that Duke had caught up to the boy, then took a seat beside Tim.

 _"Bruce!"_ The other men and women on the screens looked astonished to see him. _"You really are alive!"_

"Yes, sorry I'm late."

"Charles was just telling us about the state of Wayne Tower," Tim said. Jack ran off to participate in whatever was causing Peter to scream with laughter back in the cave. "It's damaged, but still standing. Some of the employees and their families are apparently living there as refugees."

 _"We're working,"_ a woman named Etta put in, _"some of us up to eighteen hours a day, it's just that we also happen to have our spouses and children with us and are sleeping in our offices."_

 _"I hope you don't mind, Bruce,"_ Charles said quickly, looking nervous. _"A lot of people couldn't get out of town in time, and-"_

"Of course I don't mind, Charles, Etta. I might very well have done the same in your circumstances."

 _"Wayne Tower survived,"_ put in a woman named Lourdes, _"but many of our other properties were destroyed. I don't know how all our digital data is still accounted for-"_ Neither Bruce nor Tim dropped the least hint in their expressions that all of the company's information was backed up using Batman's resources. _"-but in any case, we've been using Wayne Tower as temporary headquarters for over 80% of our Gotham-based offices."_

"What about the people? Do we have-"

Jack ran up to Bruce, shoved Dick's phone in his face, and demanded, "Ppo Po Po!"

"What?"

"He wants 'Poker Face,'" Duke called.

"Poker face?"

"It's a song," Tim explained. "Probably from Dick's ridiculous playlist." He leaned over to reach the phone and tapped at the screen until music started playing. Jack crowed in satisfaction and ran off again.

"Sorry," Bruce mumbled at all the curious faces on the screen. "I've taken in some new foster children, and our housing situation at the moment is not ideal."

 _"Oh, good,"_ a man named Nathan said in relief. _"So no one's going to judge me if my daughters interrupt, either. I can hear them fighting on the other side of the hotel room, and Isabel's busy with the baby."_

 _"I'm in the guest room at my sister's house in Pennsylvania,"_ a woman named Janice volunteered. _"I've told the kids they're not allowed to come in unless someone's bleeding to death or the house is on fire, but you're not the only one working around family, Nate."_

"Yes, it's understood that we're in an emergency state at the moment," Bruce said, a little impatiently. "As I was saying, has anyone gotten around to compiling employee status lists?"

"About half the departments have," Tim said, pointing to a side screen. "These are 'Accounted for and active,' these are 'Accounted for and inactive,' and these are 'Missing.' I've already told the remaining departments to do the same, and Matt's team should have an official database set up soon."

In Nathan's comm window, a crying little girl crawled into his lap and wailed, _"Daddyyyy, Macy hit meee...!"_

By the end of the meeting, Jason and Damian had finished their project. With the estate's security systems now fully functional, Alfred was able to schedule some contractors to come in the next morning to start repairing the house.

"A real office..."

"My _own room_."

"A proper bathtub."

"I, for one, will delight in having a full kitchen again."

"But hasn't it been kind of fun, all camping together in the cave like this?"

"NO, DICK."

That night, everyone managed to get to bed before 1:00 a.m. Many woke up again from nightmares, but were soothed back to sleep by whoever else happened to notice. After the third time Tim's phone pinged with a text from work, Bruce waited until the boy was asleep again to silence the device. When Jason tried to make a stealthy exit, it was Duke who caught him and convinced him to wait a little longer to leave.

"They'll want to say goodbye."

"I know. That's why I'm sneaking out at 4:00 in the morning."

"They won't stop you."

"They might."

"If the world tries to end again, do you really want this to be the last thing you and your family remember about each other?"

"..." Jason sullenly yanked his shoes off again and flopped back into bed. A few nooks away, Bruce closed his eyes in relief and relaxed. The cat on his stomach stretched out a paw, shifted a bit, then resettled.

In the morning, Alfred and Jason worked together on breakfast, as Dick and Kori did their best to distract the Robins from the smell of cooking food, Bruce and Tim checked the news, Duke fed the animals, and Damian fought with Raven over the bathroom.

"There are four showerheads and plenty of sinks and counterspace, there's no reason to monopolize the entire room for yourself!"

"There aren't any partitions!"

"I am asexual, I don't care what you look like naked!"

"Maybe _I_ am the one who doesn't want to see _you_ bathe."

"-TT- If you insist on extreme privacy, at least let me shower before you do. Men are far quicker at ablution than women."

"Like you'd know - your only female housemate is a cow."

"I've _seen_ how much time you and Starfire spend bathing and primping at Titans Tower!"

"I am not going to engage in a full routine when ten other people are waiting on me!"

"You-!"

Bruce slammed his hand down on the table. "Damian, let her shower first."

"But-"

" _Guests first_."

"-TT-"

Dick, holding a tablet for the Robins, grinned and nudged Kori with his elbow. "Better grab a shower while you can."

"I do not mind sharing a bathing chamber with males," she reminded him.

"Yeah, but it's just...awkward..." He coughed. "Just please go shower with Raven, Kori."

"Very well."

After breakfast, Jason pulled his father aside. "Look, Bruce..."

"You're leaving," Bruce murmured.

Jason paused in mild surprise. "...Yeah. Look, it's...not horrible anymore, touching base with you guys these days, but I've been stuck in Gotham dealing with Bat crap long enough. I need to-"

"I know." Bruce hesitated a moment, reminded himself that life was often unkind and chances should not be squandered, then put his arms around his most wayward son. Jason stiffened for a moment and did not return the embrace, but he soon relaxed. Bruce pulled back. "We'll miss you."

Jason shifted uncomfortably. "I know you and Gotham need more help, I just-"

"I know. It's all right, Jason. You are always welcome here, but I'm not going to keep you captive or guilt-trip you. Go be who you need to be."

The younger man shook his head and smiled slightly. "Heh...who are you, and what did Barbatos do with the real Bruce?"

"I have...a better appreciation of my family now. I loved you all before, but...now it's more..."

"I get it."

Bruce met his eyes. "I'm not going to make the same mistakes with him that I made with you."

"Ah, so you've figured out that burying your kids alive is not the best parenting strategy."

Bruce sighed, knowing that Jason was, as always, making light of his own death, but the jokes never held any humor for him. "I'm going to explicitly let him know how proud I am of him. I am never going to let him doubt or mistake what he is to me."

"Great. I'm sure Jason 2.0 will meet your standards this time."

"Jason. You became the incredible man you are today _in spite_ of my mistakes. I'm still trying to find a way to even connect with Peter, but you're the one I'm _already_ proud of. I have been for a long time, since before you ever became Robin."

Jason shuffled awkwardly. "Okay, well... I'm going now."

"Say goodbye to Dick and the others first."

"Is that an order?" Jason snorted.

" _Please_ say goodbye to your siblings first," Bruce amended.

"...Fine."

 _TBC_

A/N: Damian has always been my Designated Asexual for the Batman/DC fandom, even before I decided to add the rest of the Bats to the spectrum, too.

It's nice to have a fandom where you don't have to explain or set up why most of the main characters randomly know something like sign language, because their skill set is such that they probably _do_ know ASL in canon. XD (Ftr, _I_ don't know ASL - I'm using dictionaries, at first just to help me figure out whether individual signs are one-handed or two-handed, but as time went on, I started realizing that ASL isn't just signed English. Looking up the words saved me from making a lot of mistakes.)


	6. Chapter 3, Part 4

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 3.4 (rough draft 2)**

It was a busy yet noneventful day. Tim, dressed in a business suit, accompanied the Titans into town so that he could work at Wayne Tower in person. Dick, Duke, and Titus kept the Robins occupied in the woods behind the gardens, out of the way of the work going on in the house; all six of them seemed delighted at the chance to play in fresh air and sunlight. Bruce, Alfred, and Damian oversaw the repairs (rather tyrannically in all three cases), and by the end of the day, the most urgent work was completed: the kitchen was back in all its spotless glory, and most of the family's personal bedrooms were functional again.

"I'm afraid you'll have to use Cassandra's room until they can get to the rest of the house," Bruce apologized to his butler.

"You will hear no complaints from me, Master Bruce," Alfred said, taking obvious pleasure in arranging his favorite tea set on his favorite serving tray, turning off the heat on his full-sized, proper gas range, and carrying the tray over to the kitchen table where Bruce and Damian were sitting. The dining room was low on the priority list of repairs, so the family would be eating in the kitchen for the time being. "What would you like for supper?"

"Tabbouleh," Damian spoke up before Bruce could even sort through meal possibilities in his head. "And spinach quiche."

"Certainly, Master Damian. Master Bruce, I presume you'd like to add a heartier dish to the menu?"

Bruce was too tired to decide. "Just steak and potatoes is fine. Or whatever meat you have available. Or whatever the other boys want, I'll ask them. Dick will probably say pizza. Just make steak and potato pizza." He rested his face in his hands. "I'm tired."

"Father?"

Bruce sighed deeply and took out his phone to call Dick.

After dinner, everyone hung out together in the living room for a while. It was still damaged and the electrical outlets didn't work, but Duke and Damian rigged up a phone and wireless projector until they were able to play a movie on a blank wall. No one except the little Robins were really interested in the movie, so they replaced it with a smartphone game Damian had hacked to work as a multi-player.

Eventually, Tim came home and nearly fell asleep eating the dinner Alfred had saved for him. Bruce decided it was time to call it a night. "Pause that for a minute, we need to figure out sleeping arrangements."

"Why? We have our own rooms again."

"The Robins don't, and we can't let them sleep unattended yet."

"I WILL NOT HAVE ANY OF THOSE THINGS IN MY BED."

"I _know_ , Damian. I'm not going to force anyone who's not comfortable with it." Bruce paused, not quite wanting to voice aloud that he didn't think he'd be able to handle all three of the children by himself.

"I am not comfortable with it," Duke put in, his tone cautious but his expression firm.

"I concur," Raven said.

"Pass," Tim mumbled from where he was curled up in a corner of the couch.

"I can take one," Dick offered. "Not all three, but I can take one."

"I shall take this little one as my bedmate," Kori cooed at Jack, who kept running his hands through the fiery tips of her hair with a confused look, as if he couldn't understand why it was not burning him.

"She means that in a totally platonic way," Dick assured Bruce, who had assumed as much but appreciated the confirmation.

"Starfire," Raven said in dismay, "we are sharing a room." With the mansion down to minimum essentials, the only spare room was Jason's.

"Kori can sleep with me~" Dick chirped. "Like, sleep-sleep, not sex-sleep."

"We know what you meant, Dick."

"Did we?" someone snarked.

"If someone's willing to sleep in the living room," Bruce suggested, "one of our guests can take their room."

"Drake's already sleeping in here," Damian snorted, "problem solved."

"Nnnnnnnn," Tim moaned into a couch pillow.

"Nnnnnnnn," the Robins imitated.

"Wan' m'own r'm, wan' m'own bed," Tim mumbled.

Duke sighed a little. "I can sleep on the couch."

"You don't have to-"

"Seriously, Bruce Wayne's couch is more comfortable than some of the actual beds I've slept on."

It didn't feel right to Bruce to deny his foster child a real bed. He was loath to give up his own room when he was in his own house, but Batman could handle sleeping on a couch for a few nights. "I can take the living room. Someone else can use my room."

Duke grimaced. "I'd _rather_ sleep on the couch than your room. It'd be weird."

"I wouldn't mind sleeping in Bruce's room," Dick offered.

"Dick 'Always Versatile' Grayson."

"Seriously, I can sleep wherever, with whoever! I just want some help if I'm going to have more than one baby bird, but I'm down with anything else."

" _I_ wouldn't mind using Father's room, either. It's going to be mine someday, anyway."

"Geez, Damian."

"It's true! I don't want it to be mine SOON, but it _will_ be someday!"

"Man, we're in a freaking mansion, why is it so hard to figure out where everyone's going to sleep?"

"Rich people," Duke muttered.

Bruce held up a hand. "Dick, if you take the living room, Starfire can have your room. Raven will use Jason's, and everyone else can keep their own room. Does anyone have a problem with that?"

No one did.

"Good."

o.o.o.o.o

John, as usual, fell asleep to the sensation of muscle relaxant being massaged into his face, so it was easy to tuck him into bed. The trouble started when Bruce woke up in the middle of the night to find the boy crouching over him, watching him in an intense way that made Bruce's back creep. "What is it, John?"

" _crow_ "

"Go back to sleep." He took hold of the boy's shoulders and tried to ease him down.

John panicked, wrapping all four limbs around Bruce hard. Bruce could feel both their hearts beating much too quickly.

"John. John." The boy continued to cling, keeping his face tucked into the curve between Bruce's neck and shoulder. _'When he holds me this close to his body, I can't move to touch him. To hurt him.'_ Bruce felt sick. _'What did I_ _do_ _to him in that other world...?!'_ "John, I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. I _promise_ I will never hurt you. You're safe here, John..."

After a very long time, John's body relaxed. He fell away and landed limply back on the bed, gazing up at Bruce in resignation. "Ha ha."

Bruce covered him with blankets like they were a shield and made a point not to loom over him. The confusion in the child's face was heartbreaking. "Go to sleep. No one will hurt you. You're safe. You are safe, John."

" _crow_ "

Bruce retreated, and did not sleep again until after the boy finally drifted off. When Bruce did sleep, it was on a pile of spare bedding on the floor.

o.o.o.o.o

Damian bolted upright in bed, startling Titus awake. The nightmare had been bad, but he refused to go crawling into someone else's bed for comfort like a common toddler. As long as he kept the dog in his arms and his back pressed against the headboard, he would be fine...he might not ever get back to sleep again tonight, but...he would be fine... He swore silently, wishing he could force himself to at least turn on a light, but curse these huge beds, his lamp was out of reach, and going for the light switch by the door was out of the question.

When said door swung open, Damian nearly jumped out of his skin, but then was intensely relieved to find that the intruder was one of the two people he most wanted to see at the moment. He was much less happy that Dick was accompanied by one of those damn monster birds, but it couldn't be helped.

"Dami." Dick's tone was deliberately pathetic. "I had a nightmare. Having no one but one of these guys around kind of...made it worse."

"Just get in," Damian snapped, flipping back the comforter. "And keep that thing away from me, and from Titus."

"Peter," Dick cooed at the boy whose hand he was holding, "you're going to be good, right?"

Peter, who was sizing up the room, didn't respond. Dick led him over to the bed and laid him down, crawled over him, and tucked them both in. Peter immediately set his back against Dick. Though he continued to gaze watchfully into the darkness, he didn't make a fuss.

The brothers leaned against each other, the tension slowly draining from their bodies. "...I had a nightmare, too," Damian finally admitted.

"This is why I liked living in the cave with everyone," Dick said softly. "Didn't have to wake up alone in this vast...silent..." He sighed. "It was the same when I first came to live here. I got used to it, but now...after Barbatos..."

Damian curled closer into him.

o.o.o.o.o

Bruce woke up from a nightmare filled with Joker's laughter, only to realize that the laughter continued even in the waking world.

John stood naked by the window, laughing ceaselessly. "Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha...!"

Bruce fought his way out of the blankets and hurried to him. "John...John, John, stop..."

John showed no sign that he heard, but the instant Bruce touched his shoulder, he whirled and backed away, cringing as he wrapped his arms around himself. "Nnnnoo...! Nnnnoo...!"

"Please. _Please_." Bruce was too drained to wrestle the child back into his clothes, so he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around the boy. "John, no one is going to hurt you. Sit down, I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Please."

John, sitting on the edge of the bed, trembled and gazed up at Bruce with frightened eyes. "Ha ha ha ha."

" _No_ , John. Ssshhh. Just rest."

" _crow_ "

"You're safe, John. You're safe."

Finally giving in to the light pressure of Bruce's hands on his shoulders, John lay back, still staring. Bruce covered him with more blankets and then went to sit at his desk, first just hiding his face in his hands for a while, then tugging his laptop close to work.

Footsteps padded nearly soundlessly across the room. Bruce turned just as John climbed into his lap. "Nnnnn."

"John."

"Nnnnn. Nnnnno." John touched Bruce's face, his mouth, his hair, his expression now distant. "Nnnnoo hhhh. Dddd. Nnnnohhhdd."

"No hurt."

"Nnnn."

"No hurt. I won't hurt you. I won't ever hurt you, John."

"Nnnn. Nnnn. Nnnn. Nnnn."

Bruce couldn't stand it anymore. He gently nudged John to the floor, picked up the pajamas that had been discarded earlier, and dressed the boy, who was as unresponsive as a doll. Then he wrapped John in a blanket again and picked him up and carried him to the living room.

It was empty. Bruce paused for a moment. Then he started to head for Dick's room where Starfire was, paused again before reaching it, and changed course for Damian's room.

He had guessed right. The boys were sitting together, talking quietly, but fell silent when the door opened. Titus raised his head; Peter continued to sleep soundly.

"No," Damian said immediately.

"Please," Bruce begged. "Dick, please. I can't."

Dick held out his arms. Bruce crossed the room and set John into them. Damian slipped out of bed and marched to the door, Titus on his heels. Bruce watched in the hallway until the two of them disappeared into Cassandra's room where Alfred was sleeping, then went to sit on the bed, opposite from Peter. "I think it would be better if John slept with someone else from now on. Peter is still too frightened of me, but I can take Jack starting tomorrow night."

"...I don't think I want to know."

"I _know_ I don't want to know."

They both looked at John, who was staring at the ceiling as he lay bundled beside Dick. _"That Master makes me cold and hurts me,"_ he remarked in Robin language. _"This Master covers me with feathers."_

Bruce gritted his teeth. "He _needs_ to learn how to talk to us." He sat the boy upright. John did not resist, looking at him with an unreadable expression. "John, look. _Sad_." Bruce signed the word at the same time he spoke it. "Sad. Sad. Can you do that?"

"Sad," Dick added, also both verbally and in ASL.

 _"...Sad,"_ John imitated cautiously.

"Good."

Dick reached out a hand, then paused. "Dang it, I don't have any treats."

"It's all right, let's see how much he'll do without them. John, _scared_. Scared."

 _"Scared."_

"Good. _Angry_."

 _"Angry."_

"Good. Very good."

After he'd made the boy practice for a bit, he asked, "John, can you answer my question with your hands? What did you feel, when you woke up in my room? Did you feel _sad_ , or _scared_ , or _angry_?"

 _"Sad scared angry."_

Dick facepalmed.

Bruce huffed out a breath. _'My fault - stupid to ask it like that, no telling whether he's answering or simply mimicking.'_ "All right, let's try this. John, _happy_. This means _happy_."

 _"Happy."_

"Good. _Brave_."

 _"Brave."_

"Good. _Peaceful_."

 _"Peaceful."_

"Good." Then, after some practice, "Now, tell me: when you woke up, did you feel _happy_ , or _sad_?"

 _"Sad."_

"Did you feel _brave_ , or _scared_?"

 _"Scared."_

Switching it this time to see if John was simply always signing the second of the choices, "Did you feel _angry_ , or _peaceful_?"

 _"Angry."_

"Clever boy," Bruce murmured, his heart aching for the child, but also impressed at how quickly he had started picking up ASL.

"How about now, Johnny?" Dick asked softly, slipping his fingers through the boy's hair. "How do you feel now?"

 _"...Happy scared angry sad."_

Dick rested his chin on the boy's head, and John closed his eyes.

"Dick, from now on, whenever John is around - whenever _any_ of them are around - sign while you talk. I'll tell the others in the morning."

"'Kay." Then, when he realized he hadn't accompanied the word with a sign, Dick grinned said, this time with both his voice and his hand, "I will."

"Might as well start teaching Duke while we're at it."

"Sure."

Bruce sighed a little. "John."

The boy's eyes fluttered open again.

"I know that the person who hurt you looked a lot like me. But I am not him. I want to help you and keep you safe, and hopefully make you happy. Do you understand?"

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] did not have the words to answer what This Master was asking. After a moment of hesitation, he crept forward and lay down on his back, hands pulled away, all his most vulnerable parts within easy reach.

Bruce stared. If this was an answer, he hoped it meant _"I trust you."_ Yet when he rested his palm on John's chest, he felt the boy's heart racing with fear. _"I'll let you do what you want to me."_

"I can't do this." Bruce rushed out of the room.

Dick gathered the boy into his arms and hugged him tight, but now that This Master was gone, [ _chirp-chirp_ ] had no need to be comforted. He wriggled his arms free and said to [big _chirp-chirp_ ] in these new new NEW words, _"Happy! Brave! Happy!"_

"Yeah," Dick said, sounding depressed. Then he shook himself and said/signed, "You can trust Bruce, he's a good person. He'll take care of you the right way."

John chirped in excitement, his fingers getting jumbled as he tried to repeat the signs.

"Oh - you want me to teach you more?"

 _"Happy happy happy."_

"All right, well, this is _yes_. This is _no_."

 _"Yes no yes no yes no."_

"Do you want me to teach you more signs?"

 _"Yes yes yes yes yes!"_

 _TBC_

A/N: I went to bed last night imagination-writing this chapter, then woke up in the morning and sat down at my computer to type it... Only for the characters to spend three hours arguing about who was going to sleep where before they finally let me get to the part I'd _intended_ to write. X'''D I had to draw a big chart on my chalkboard to figure out the sleeping arrangements.


	7. Chapter 4, Part 1

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 4.1 (rough draft 2)**

The next day, after a breakfast that involved much sign language, Dick took the Robins back out to play, and workers arrived for the next round of repairs. About midmorning, Bruce received a text from his eldest son:

 _come out to my location. bring dami_

Since Bruce's phone contained various tracking and alert programs, he already knew what had happened. "Damian, come with me."

"Why?"

"Business."

The pouting look left the boy's face, and he promptly abandoned the worker he'd been annoying. "Downstairs?"

"No, I'll show you."

When they headed out past the backyard, Damian pulled back suspiciously. "You're not tricking me into monstersitting, are you?"

"No. They'll be there, but I'm not going to make you deal with them. There's something you'll want to see that coincidentally happens to be where they are."

"What is it?"

"Just please let it be a surprise, Damian. It's a nice one, I promise."

Damian grumbled, but resumed hiking after his father. They crossed the yard and the gardens and started making their way through the trees. Just as they reached the first clearing, Damian heard a rushing sound.

"GENTLE!" someone shouted urgently, and then Damian was tackled to the ground by something that felt the opposite of gentle, but, in hindsight, could have caused much more damage than a bruise or two.

"DAMIAAAAN!"

"Kent! Get off me, you fool!" Damian shouted, trying to sound angry but unable to make his face stop beaming as he was super-glomped by his best friend. Jon had just barely started pulling back when Titus romped over to join in the enthusiastic greeting. "Titus! Stop! What is wrong with you both?!"

Their fathers stood nearby, watching fondly. Clark, who was holding a delighted-looking John, stepped close and set a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "I meant to come check on you sooner, but Metropolis has been a mess. I mean, I know Gotham got it even worse, but...uh...yeah. Wanted to see how you were doing, and Jon's been pretty anxious about Damian."

"We're fine," Bruce murmured, glancing over at his other children. Dick and Duke were successfully keeping the younger Robins distracted from pouncing on Damian as well. "...More fine than I expected to be."

"You _look_ better than I expected you to be." Clark struggled to keep supporting John as the boy started climbing over his shoulder like a cat. "Still an exhausted mess, mind you, but a weirdly happy exhausted mess. It's the kids, right? You always do seem brighter with children around."

"John, stop that." By this time, the boy was upside-down as he inspected Superman's cape, and Clark looked a little nervous as he tried to keep hold of his legs. Bruce pulled the child away entirely and set him on his feet. John screeched in angry protest, but Bruce kept his arms wrapped firmly around his shoulders.

"Even these kids," Clark added in a murmur, gently brushing his knuckle across a slightly stiff cheek and an elfin ear. John grabbed his hands and started manipulating them into ASL signs. Clark let him, raising his gaze to meet Bruce's again. "Are you okay?"

"Sometimes they...hint, and it makes me sick. But overall..." John cooed happily, leaning back against his father as he continued to play with Clark's hands. "They're children who need help. And...I have to help. And it's worth it." He looked out at Damian, who was whooping as Jon zoomed around the clearing with him; Dick, who was singing and dancing his heart out among the wildflowers; Duke, laughing at his exuberance; Peter and Jack, shrieking and hopping and signing in excitement. "It's all worth it."

John broke away and ran to his fellow Robins. A few minutes later, as Bruce was gathering up scattered toys, he heard, "Hey, Bruce, watch this!"

Briefly flashbacking to all the times Dick as a child had called those exact words to him, Bruce turned to look.

What he saw was Superman floating in midair, in an exaggerated casual lounging pose, as Dick did energetic pull-ups on his outstretched arm. "...Six! Seven! Eight! Nine...!"

Bruce thought blankly, _'Why.'_

Then Dick yelped, and his controlled grip turned to clinging when Clark startled. Both craned to look over Clark's shoulder, and saw that Peter had jumped high enough to grab the cape and was now clambering up it. John was already rushing to join in. Minutes later, Superman was serving as a midair jungle gym for three of Bruce's children.

"Bruce, help?" Clark called tentatively. Dick, now laughing as he hung upside-down from Clark's still outstretched arm, was being useless. Bruce sighed and went to rescue his friend.

Clark stayed for about an hour, then rose into the air to head to Metropolis, saying that he'd be back in the evening to pick up Jon.

"Bring Lois," Bruce said. "You can all stay for dinner." Clark beamed at him.

The Robins gobbled up new ASL words all morning. They seemed to have trouble with complicated concepts, but the buildup of their basic, everyday vocabulary was a delight to them and a relief to their caretakers.

 _"My thing, mine, mine,"_ Peter said every time someone got too close to the toy truck he was filling with leaves.

 _"I love you!"_ John told Dick again and again.

"Awwww, Johnny, I love you, too!"

 _"I love you,"_ the boy said to Duke, and to Jack, and to Peter, and to Titus. The dog licked him in the face. " _crow_!"

"Wet," Dick laughed, signing as he spoke. "The dog's tongue is wet."

 _"Wet tongue!"_

 _"Tree, sky, flower, leaf, boy,"_ Jack practiced intently. _"I want, mine, no, yes, wait. Hello, goodbye, stop, come here, go away."_

"How does he remember so many new ones?" Duke marveled.

Dick ruffled Jack's hair affectionately. "Timmy's a genius no matter what universe he's from."

"Ttmmm?"

"Jack."

"Jj'kk." Then with his hand, _"Me."_

A little before noon, Dick clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. "Heeeeyyy, baby birds! Time for lunch, let's head back to the house!"

" _crow_?"

"Lunch. _Lunch_. We are going to the house to eat lunch."

 _"Lunch house lunch!"_

Alfred had been busy with the contractors all morning, so lunch was simply sandwiches. Now that the Robins could communicate better, Bruce was raising the bar on the requirements for earning food.

Since John's speech was the most impaired, he was allowed to get away with simply signing, _"Please give me food"_ for each morsel.

Jack didn't seem to mind much that he was now required to ask for each morsel specifically, and in both languages. _"Please give me milk._ Mmm...mmmii'kk, ppeess."

"Good job, Jack. You can have some more milk."

Peter loved signing, but was outraged that he was still required, not just to ask verbally, but to enunciate better as well. _"Please give me food!"_

Bruce put a token, fingerprint-sized piece of bread on his plate for the ASL, but the boy hadn't earned a full morsel. He prompted yet again, "'Food, please.'"

"Ffoo'peez!"

"Fooddd, pllease."

"FFOO'PEEZ!"

"Try again. Foodddd-"

"FFOOOOOOOODD!" Peter screamed, launching himself at Bruce so hard that he knocked the chair over and sent them both crashing to the floor.

By the time a gate notification popped up on Bruce's phone, he was alone in the kitchen with the children, nearing the end of their meal. The others had all long since finished eating, and Dick was taking a break. Bruce tapped at the screen to show the front gate's main camera view of the person who had just requested admittance and was whitelisted on the facial recognition software. "Lucius."

 _"Bruce."_

"Make sure no one follows you in. Should I send Alfred?"

 _"Maybe you'd better,"_ Lucius said, glancing over his shoulder at the paparazzi, Internet amateurs, and crazies who'd been camped outside the estate, all eager to get post-apocalypse material on Bruce Wayne.

Eventually, Lucius was ushered into the kitchen. John and Jack immediately trotted over to investigate the newcomer, as Peter retreated warily behind the island.

Bruce hurried to keep the boys from getting too grabby. "Boys, this is Lucius. Lucius. Say hello."

 _"Hello,"_ they both signed.

"Good. John, can you say his name? Lucius. Luuuciuus."

"... _cooooo_ ," John tried.

"We'll work on that," Bruce murmured sadly. He noticed Jack picking at Lucius's coat, and tugged the boy away. "Jack, don't touch without permission. Can you say hello to Lucius? Say 'hello' with your mouth." Belatedly, he realized he should probably be teaching the boys to call him 'Mr. Fox,' but it was too late now.

"Hhhh," Jack said, watching Bruce sign the word again.

"'Hello, Lucius.'"

"Hh...hhhhhellllllloo..."

"Luuucius."

"Uhlllloossha!" Peter suddenly shouted. "Oossha!"

"Oops-" Bruce hastily started searching for a treat.

"OOSSHA! OOSSHA!"

"I'm getting it, Peter, I'm getting it, just hold on-" The only reward he could produce on such short notice was a handful of Dick's cereal, which Peter snatched out of his palm and retreated back to his hiding place to eat. Bruce picked up the dropped pieces of cereal, since he had discovered the hard way that the boys would eat any food they found on the floor.

"H'lllo Oossha, h'llo Oosha!" Jack said anxiously, and was rewarded with a handful of cereal as well.

 _"Hello?"_ John signed in confusion, then beamed when he got a treat, too, mostly so he wouldn't be left out.

"Sorry," Bruce said to Lucius, looking harassed. "Peter needs motivation to practice speaking."

"I can see now why you've been staying home all week," Lucius remarked.

Dick poked his head into the room. "Everything okay in here?"

"Dd'kkk!"

"[big _chirp-chirp_ ]!"

 _"Play!"_

Dick went down laughing as he was tackled by the whole flock of Robins.

"Dick, can you take them outside again?"

Once Bruce and Lucius were alone, they sat down at the kitchen table with cups of coffee, and Lucius started pulling folders and packets out of his briefcase. "We've been making do without you so far, especially now that Tim is on the scene, but these are things that really do need to be signed by you in person."

Bruce spent the next hour reading, signing, and chatting with his old friend in between.

"Tim's told me a bit about your latest ones."

"I honestly don't do it on purpose, Lucius. They just...come to me."

"They seem like more of a handful than your older kids ever were. ...I bet you're not getting much sleep these days." Lucius's voice was as careful as Jim Gordon's had been.

Bruce shook his head. "No more night parties for me, at least for a while."

"Hmm." Lucius now looked sympathetic. "Have you heard from Batman since the crisis? Rumors are going around that he's dead."

"Not dead," Bruce said in a very low voice, his eyes on the document currently in his hands. "Tired." He set the document down, rubbed at his face, then rested his forehead on his hands for a while. Finally he looked up and said, "Which of these documents has _not_ been read by either you or Tim?"

"Bruce, I never bring anything for you to sign that I haven't personally vetted. There are a couple that Tim didn't have time to do more than glance at, though." He started shifting a stack, but Bruce set out a hand to stop him.

"I trust you, Lucius. You do far more to run this company than I do, anyway." He went through the rest of the documents quickly, skimming instead of reading, and signed off on each.

That evening, between all the guests, the Robins, and the sheer number of people present, dinner was a lively affair. They had to eat in the dining room despite the fact that it wasn't, as Alfred fretted, 'presentable' yet, but no one else seemed to mind.

Afterward, Jon begged his parents to let him spend the night, but Bruce saw the strained looks on Clark's and Lois's faces, and made up an excuse so they wouldn't have to. He knew that after what they had recently been through, the thought of splitting up the family overnight was too painful. "If all three of you would like to stay, though, you're welcome to. We have a few habitable guest rooms now."

"I've got work in the morning," Lois said apologetically.

"Awww," Jon pouted. "Well, then can Damian come spend the night with us?"

Now it was Clark's turn to make excuses on his friend's behalf, but before he could speak, Damian stepped close to his father. "Afraid not, Kent. Unfortunately, I have obligations here I can't abandon, so a night away from home is out of the question."

Bruce, knowing that the real reason Damian was reluctant to leave home was the same reason he'd temporarily left the Teen Titans, set a hand on his son's shoulder. Damian leaned into him. _'I don't want you out of my sight, either, kiddo.'_

Jon's face fell. "Really?"

"You'll see him again soon," Lois said soothingly. "You can visit again in a few days, and Damian, you and your dad are always welcome to our home."

"Yes, I know."

A little later, after the Kents had left and Bruce was about to start getting the children ready for bed, Dick pulled him aside. "Soooo, hey, Dad."

Bruce read the look on his face, and his heart sank. "You're leaving, too."

"I'll come visit every week," Dick promised. "Maybe more. I just... I can't get Blüdhaven out of my mind, and I really miss my friends-"

"I know. I know, Dick. I told Jason I wouldn't keep him here against his will, and that goes for you, too."

"Jay wasn't your star birdsitter, though," Dick said sympathetically.

"...Yes," Bruce said, his tone defeated.

"You'll manage. You're their dad, too, and this isn't exactly your first rodeo."

"They're not like you and the others. I made mistakes with you all, but I never... I _never_ treated any of you like _he_ treated them, they look at me and they see _him_ , I want to _murder_ him-"

"Bruce," Dick said softly.

Bruce looked back at him. _'Don't leave,'_ he thought.

Dick leaned to hug him, and they held each other for a long time. He finally pulled back and said, "One more night, then I'll probably take off after breakfast."

"I suppose Alfred and Damian will have to handle the contractors without me."

"I think two control freaks driving the workers crazy are enough. The kids need you more."

 _'I need you.'_ But that was not what Dick needed to hear right now, so he didn't say it.

 _TBC_

A/N: In all the canon I've seen, everyone always just walks up the mansion's front steps and rings the doorbell, but I think that's ridiculous. In real life, much, much less wealthy people than Bruce Wayne (and much, much less paranoid people than Batman) have a vetting system in place at their outer gates, so random people can't just stroll in.


	8. Chapter 4, Part 2

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 4.2 (rough draft 2)**

Since the Robins had been readied for bed earlier than they had the previous night but couldn't be left alone yet, they slept in a puppy pile on a couch as the rest of the family wound down from the day. None of the boys woke when their sleeping partners were finally ready to retire for the night and picked them up. Bruce carried Jack to his room and hoped that this night would pass more calmly than the last one had.

No such luck. He woke up a couple of hours later to a scritching noise, and found the little boy determinedly trying to scratch his way through the window with a pair of scissors from Bruce's desk. If he'd known to smash instead of scratch, he would have been gone by now.

"Jack!"

The child jumped as if he'd been struck and dropped the scissors, jerked away, dove to grab the scissors again, and fled to hide under Bruce's desk, his mouth open in an ugly, birdlike screech.

 _'Dammit,'_ Bruce thought, seething at his darkest other self. It wasn't as noticeable in the daytime, when there were other people around and the children had many things to occupy their attention, but it was clear that all three of them were still terrified of him, not just the ever-defensive Peter or the most extensively abused John.

There was no point in going straight for the boy and making him feel even more threatened, so instead, Bruce went to his bookshelf. He pulled out all the picture books, the ones he'd most loved having his parents read to him as a child, and he sat down with them in an easy chair not too close to the desk where Jack hid. He opened the one on top and started to read. "[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."

Every so often, he unobtrusively glanced up to check on Jack. The boy, unnaturally still, seemed fixated on him. When Bruce was halfway through the second book, he sensed Jack peering over his elbow. He showed no sign that he noticed the boy's presence except to place a finger on the page and start running it under the text as he read, hoping that Jack might eventually make a connection between the spoken words and the printed ones.

By the fifth book, Jack didn't seem to mind anymore when he brushed against Bruce's arm. He put his finger on the page to slide it along the text as well. At first, whenever Bruce moved to correct his pace, he pulled his hand away before Bruce could touch him, but by the seventh book, he was letting Bruce guide his finger.

"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]"

When Bruce reached the end of the stack and started to read the first book again, Jack pulled all the books away and dragged them under the desk to look at. Bruce adjusted the desk lamp so that it would give Jack enough light, then retreated to place an online order. Every careless scuff made him wince, and he wanted to provide the child with his own books so that the copies Martha and Thomas Wayne had touched could be returned safely to the shelves.

In the meantime, Jack's well-being was more important, so Bruce let him look at the books until he fell asleep. Bruce returned the boy to bed and thought that was the end of it...until he woke up a little later to the scritching sound again. Since the scissors had been confiscated, Jack was now using a letter opener. This time, the child cried when he fled away from Bruce to his hiding place.

"Jack, I'm not going to hurt you," Bruce insisted.

"[ _chirp-chirp_ ]! [ _caw_ ]! [big _chirp-chirp_ ]!"

"I don't understand when you talk like that, Jack. You have to use words I know."

 _"Boy safe help scared,"_ Jack signed. _"You."_

"...I'm sorry, I...I still don't understand. You don't have to be scared, Jack."

"[ _CHIRP-CHIRP_ ]! [ _CAW_ ]!" He screwed up his face and concentrated. "Ddddiicckkkk!"

"You want Dick?"

"YYSSSS," Jack insisted, signing an emphatic accompaniment.

"It's John's turn to sleep with Dick tonight. You have to sleep here, but I promise I won't hurt you. You're safe."

 _"NO. That You hurt me laughing laughing laughing hurt me! Hurt me! SCARED I want_ Dd'ckkk! D'kkk! D'kkk!"

"...Come on." Bruce stood up and held out his hand. Jack hissed and made no move to take it. Bruce went to the door and opened it, and Jack crept after him into the hall at a cautious distance.

Dick was asleep in his own room. John crouched beside him on the bed, crooning mournfully. As soon as Bruce entered, John screeched and dragged frantically at Dick, who was startled awake; Jack darted into the room and flung himself at John; by the time things had settled, Dick was wearily rubbing at a new scratch as the children huddled together behind him, and Bruce was silently cursing whatever dark pit of hell the Batman Who Laughs had crawled up from. "I can't do this without you, Dick."

"Okay, no." Dick swung his legs off the bed, stood up, and snapped briskly at the children. "You two. Up."

They obeyed apprehensively. Bruce himself felt like a scolded grade school student as he and the Robins followed Dick out of the room and down the hall. Dick signed for them to wait, then carefully opened the door of the guest room where Kori was sleeping. He disappeared inside for a few minutes, and came out with Peter following him. Peter hissed at Bruce and stepped between his brothers, who were already holding onto each other and shifted to grab him, too.

"Let's go, kiddos," Dick said, leading the way back to Bruce's room. The Robins balked, but Dick herded them all inside and shut the door. The children looked frightened, but once inside, Dick ignored them. With Bruce awkwardly following his lead, he climbed into bed and burrowed into the blankets and snuggled against Bruce, indicating with speech, signs, and body language that he felt happy and safe with his father. "Mmmnn, so sleepy~ Bruce, your bed is so much _warmer_ and _softer_ than mine."

Which wasn't true, since Bruce preferred firm mattresses, but that wasn't the point. "It's...the one for the master bedroom, so..." He had no idea what to say and felt uncomfortable and awkward cuddling with an adult man in bed, but he knew this performance was for the children, so he tried to play along as best he could.

"Nice and warm, so sleepy... G'night, Bruce. I love you."

"Mm hm."

After he and Dick had been fake-asleep for a minute, the Robins crept under the desk together, twittered at each other, then quieted. Peter and Jack fell asleep almost at once; John remained awake, his pose watchful as if he had no intention of sleeping. He didn't protest when Dick got up again and brought over a pile of blankets to tuck around the children. _"Good,"_ John signed.

Dick kissed the top of his head and went to join Bruce, who was hovering by the bed and wondering if he should send over some pillows. "Bruce," Dick murmured, "maybe it was a mistake to separate them. I'm gonna go back to bed; see how they do with you now that they're all together."

"You're leaving?!"

Dick grinned. "You'll be fine, Dad. Call me if they freak out, but I don't think they will. Look at John, he's used to this." The boy, though watchful, didn't seem tense. "You'll be fine," Dick said again, and left.

John watched him go, and made that low, mournful noise again when the door shut, but he didn't move or tense up. His gazed moved to Bruce, who backed away. Bruce lay down on the bed, and after a long time, he fell asleep.

He woke up again frequently during the night, and every time, a glance showed him that the Robins were still huddled together in the nest of blankets under the desk...except it was always a different child who was awake. First it was Peter, crouched protectively over his brothers as they slept; then Jack, looking at _Harold and the Purple Crayon_ while the other two boys slumbered beside him; then John again, softly grooming his sleeping brothers' hair.

 _'They take turns keeping watch, just like soldiers in hostile territory.'_ They _were_ used to this, and it made Bruce grieve and rage all over again, but at least they were quiet and staying put instead of panicking and trying to escape. _'Someday. I won't give up, and_ _someday_ _, you three will understand that you are safe in this house, and I will never, ever let anybody hurt you again.'_

o.o.o.o.o

After breakfast, Kori and Raven bid the family farewell, since they wanted to help in Central City next. Damian escorted them out like a gentleman, then came back to accompany Dick to the garage. Dick first made his own round of goodbyes, reassuring Bruce one last time that he'd be fine and happily accepting a hearty snack for the road from Alfred. Then he turned to his littlest brothers, who were all transfixed by the cat video Duke was showing them on his tablet. "Mwah, mwah, mwah, love you all lots, see you soon~" Jack took no notice of him; Peter impatiently pushed him away; John distractedly hummed as he nuzzled Dick's cheek, never quite taking his eyes away from the tablet. Dick clapped a hand on Duke's shoulder. "Counting on you, big brother."

"Thanks for the list," Duke said, referencing the suggestions for Robin-entertaining activities that Dick had given him earlier.

"No problem. Timmy, you awake yet?"

"No," Tim mumbled into his coffee, but patted his brother's arm when Dick wrapped it around his shoulders and squeezed. Dick backed away and waved a peace sign at the room in general before heading out with a fidgety Damian, who preferred to see him off in private.

This time, it was Bruce who accompanied Duke, the Robins, and the dog outside, carrying a bag of toys and snacks. The children ran and laughed and crowed, calling to each other whenever one strayed too far from the others. As soon as they reached the first clearing, the children swarmed the bag of toys, and it dawned on Bruce that, with Batman business on hiatus and WE business on the backburner, this was the first time in his entire life that he was going to play with his children without the pressure of any preoccupations, time limits, or outside stressors. He had no idea what to do.

Fortunately, Duke seemed to. "You want the truck again, Peter?"

"Uhn!" Peter affirmed, making grabby hands.

Duke, having picked up the routine by now, held the toy out of reach. "Remember, you have to ask."

Peter looked angry, but he knew the drill. "TOHHHWU'CK PPEEZ!"

"Awesome."

Peter ran off with his prize, and now it was John's turn. _"Ball! Please give me ball!"_

Duke glanced at Bruce for confirmation. "He asked for the ball, right?"

"Yes, you can give it to him."

John crowed in delight and instantly hurled the ball as high as he could, then galloped off to retrieve it and throw it again.

Jack, looking frustrated, was still hunting through the bag. He dumped everything out on the grass, but was not satisfied. _"I want!"_

"What do you want, Jack?"

In answer, Jack spoke a long string of gibberish that didn't sound like either English or the Robins' bird language. What it _did_ sound like was Bruce's tone and cadence when he read children's stories out loud.

"Oh - book? Do you want books?"

"Bb'kkk," Jack said experimentally, and imitated the sign Bruce showed him.

"Wait, Jack. I'll get you some books, but you have to _wait_." Bruce called Alfred, who eventually arrived in a golf cart with a bag full of picture books, different than the treasured collection from Bruce's room.

Jack's eyes lit up. "Bb'kkk?!"

"Yes, Jack, these are _books_."

 _"BOOK,"_ Jack signed with relish, then grabbed as many as he could fit into his arms and took them away a short distance to inspect. Peter came over, looking interested, and there was a squabble. Books started to get damaged and Bruce and Duke tried to intervene, but it was John who resolved the conflict.

He picked up the book Peter had most wanted; Peter shrieked and writhed in Bruce's arms; John flaunted the book, making such a show of stealing it that Bruce, responding to a gut feeling, released Peter. The boy charged at his brother, raging, and John immediately dropped the book and fled. As Peter crooned in concern and petted his treasure, John circled around to steal one from Jack's pile. Jack cried out in anguished outrage, and again, John made a show of cooing over his new 'prize.' "Duke, let him go." Jack raced at John, who, again, cut his losses. By the time John had finished 'stealing' all the books, turning his brothers' rage from each other to him, Peter and Jack were so glad to have any books at all that they were no longer concerned about which specific ones the other had.

Bruce was speechless with awe at the little boy's mediation skills. Dick was still Dick, no matter what world he was from or how much damage he had suffered. "John, come here. You earned this. Good job."

John devoured the little candy bar with much delighted gobbling and smacking, then nestled in Bruce's arms. "Good work, chum," Bruce murmured again, gently cleaning chocolate off the boy's hands and mouth.

o.o.o.o.o

It took about an hour for the children to start missing their favorite big brother. _"Where?"_ John asked.

"Where is what?"

"[big _chirp-chirp_ ]"

"Use human words, John."

The boy looked frustrated. _"I want."_

Bruce was starting to understand that this sort of thing meant there was a vocabulary gap. "Let's ask Jack, maybe he knows how to tell me what you want."

After a multilingual exchange, Jack turned to Bruce and said, _"Please give me_ [big _chirp-chirp_ ]. Ddii'ckk, ppees."

Bruce blinked. "Er..."

"It's a _name_ ," Duke suddenly realized. "That 'whoop chirp chirp' sound, that's what they call Dick."

"D'kk!"

"Kkkkk," John experimented. "D...Dddi'ckk."

Bruce tried to push down the feeling of dread that was rising. "Boys, listen. Dick is not here." He didn't realize that he'd added in body language, _"And I feel apprehensive about telling you that,"_ which the Robins interpreted to mean, _"I am the reason he's gone."_

They went very still, their gazes fixed on him intently. Peter, as if sensing that something was wrong, rushed to join them.

 _"Danger?! Danger?!"_ he asked urgently in bird language.

 _"[big chirp-chirp] gone. This Master killed him."_

Peter lunged at Bruce like a savage wolf. Bruce was able to safely immobilize him, but seeing Peter being restrained triggered John's protective instincts, and all the violence triggered Jack. A minute later, Bruce, covered with bleeding scratches, was subduing all three terrified, raging children, trying not to hurt them and hating that there was no way to protect himself without forcing them still, which was probably bringing up traumatic memories. Titus's frightened barking in the background made it hard to think. Bruce looked up, silently pleading for help from the only other person around, but Duke looked horrified and helpless.

"Wh- What do I do?"

"I don't...know." All he could think to do was wait it out. "Play a video game? Maybe the music will catch their attention." _'Music.'_ "Or that song they like so much."

"I never liked that song to begin with, much less after hearing it fifty times..." Still, Duke started "Poker Face" on his phone.

Jack was the first one to calm down. When Bruce cautiously released him, the boy squirmed away and went to huddle against Duke. When he let John go, the boy immediately started yanking hard on the arm holding Peter.

"John, I can't let him go until I know he won't hurt me. Peter, no hurt. No hurt."

 _"[caw],"_ John said urgently in bird language, _"I give me, I give me, you go! Fly away!"_

Peter went still and whimpered. Then he went limp.

Bruce cautiously let him go, and was alarmed when Peter bolted, flying right past Duke and Jack. Bruce started to run after him, but John literally tripped him up. "Duke, throw the ball!" he shouted from where he'd stumbled.

To his relief, the colorful, bouncing toy caught Peter's attention before he reached the trees, and he paused. Duke snatched up the bag of toys and hurried with Jack to catch up with him. Once Bruce was satisfied that the Robins weren't going to run off and get lost in the woods, he turned his attention to John, who was clinging to him. "John, what are you doing?"

 _"Me,"_ he signed. _"I give to you."_

"Give what?"

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha."

Bruce's back was creeping again. "...John."

John pushed him onto his back and lay on him, staring intently into his eyes. Bruce, at a loss, brought up his arms to hug him. The boy hid his face in Bruce's chest and went limp in a strange, deliberate way.

 _'Something's wrong. I shouldn't touch him when he gets like this.'_ Bruce gently pushed him back and got to his feet and moved a few steps away. John followed him warily. "Look." He took out his phone and found a cat video like the one Duke had played for the boys earlier. John giggled half-heartedly, occasionally glancing at Bruce out of the corner of his eye. Bruce then got the idea to try a video of a trapeze artist at work, which John found riveting. One of the suggested videos at the end was actually of Dick himself, during a guest performance he had done for Haly's a few months ago, and Bruce selected it.

"[big _chirp-chirp_ ]!" Then in bird language, _"He flies! He flies! Beautiful!"_ John eagerly watched the whole thing...and then he started to cry. "[big _chirp-chirp_ ]... Ddi'ckk! Ddi'ckk!" In ASL, _"Please give me please give me sad sad angry please!"_

"John. Listen to me. Dick will come back. Right now he is gone, but next week he will come back. Do you understand?"

 _"..._ Ddi'ckk _come here?"_

"Not now, but in a few days, yes. Wait. Dick will come if you wait."

John scrabbled his fingers violently against his chest. Bruce understood: _"My heart hurts, it hurts."_

"John," Bruce said softly, and lifted his hands to mime that it felt like his own heart had been dug out his chest, too.

At last, John's expression softened as he realized, _"You are sad."_

"Yes. Yes, I miss Dick, too, and I'm sad he's gone."

 _"Gone, sad."_

They sat together for a long time and watched videos of Dick, first online and then from Bruce's personal collection, until the hurt began to ease a little.

 _TBC_


	9. Chapter 5

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 5 (rough draft 2)**

A/N: In this fic, the Dick/Shawn breakup was much more amiable, and they're still friends.

Also, even though Duke in _Batman and the Signal_ now lives with his adult cousin (and is dating Izzy?), I liked it better when he was Bruce's foster kid (and when he was single), so I'm sticking with that in this fic.

o.o.o

Bruce had made sure Duke was still studying even though there was no school to go to (except the makeshift one that had finally opened the day before, but Bruce was uneasy about sending one of his not fully trained charges so far outside the safety of the manor these days. Duke wasn't inclined to go, anyway, since none of his friends had opted to attend yet).

Duke needed a break from babysitting and he had a lot of schoolwork to catch up on, so as he sat under a tree with his tablet, notebook, and a napping Titus, Bruce took the children to visit their fallen sibling.

The fourth dark Robin, who had turned out to be a young girl, was now buried in the family cemetery. DNA testing had revealed that she was Earth -22's version of Damian's acting instructor, of all people. Since Bruce couldn't very well put Carrie Kelley's full name on a mysterious grave in his private cemetery, the inscription only showed the initials C.K. and the child's date of death.

"Boys, give these to your sister. _No_ , Peter-! That's right, it doesn't taste nice. Flowers are not food. Put it here next to this one."

He tried to explain the significance of the grave, but they seemed restless. _"No girl,"_ John insisted. _"No girl here."_

Bruce thought it might not be the best idea to say that the girl was under the ground. "C.K. is gone, but this is where we remember her and honor her."

 _"Gone?"_ Jack questioned.

"Yes. The fourth one in your group. The girl who died when I found you."

"[ _trill_ ]," Jack realized.

His brothers went still. _"[trill],"_ John said sadly in bird language. _"Dead."_

Bruce started recording, on the chance he might someday be able to decipher the boys' language.

 _"Gone gone gone,"_ Peter grumbled. _"You stay! [chirp-chirp] stay and [warble] stay!"_

 _"[big chirp-chirp] gone,"_ John remembered in distress.

Peter screamed.

 _"We stay,"_ John assured him. _"Flock. This Master weak. Much food, warm feathers, no hurt. Together. Safe."_

 _"[trill] not safe,"_ Peter grumbled, and scratched at the grave marker. He got distracted by the flowers and picked one of them up again. _"Not food? Why this thing not food, I don't like it!"_

 _"Pretty,"_ John said, and went to look at the flowers growing on an older grave a few yards away.

 _"This Master say [trill] is here,"_ Jack thought out loud. _"[trill] is dead, not here."_ He frowned at the closest grave and went to peer at it. _"Someone is dead not-here, too?"_ He moved on to the next. _"Dead not-here person. Another. Another. ...This place is This Master's Bone Pit."_ He looked around at the grass and the flowers and carved grave markers and the absence of visible human remains. _"Much much better Bone Pit than That One. Pretty, smells good."_ He continued wandering among the graves, curious at how they differed from each other.

Peter, still holding the flower (which was somewhat mangled by now), looked up at Bruce. "Ffoo'peez." He screwed up his face before Bruce even corrected him. "FfoooDUH, pllllleeeease."

Bruce gave him a piece of dried fruit.

 _"Why this ugly thing taste good? Why this pretty thing taste bad?"_

"Peter," Bruce wondered, since the boy was the only one nearby to ask, "did you understand, about this being your sister's grave? When people we love die, we make places where we can let them rest and come visit them even though they're not alive anymore."

Peter was watching his signing hands intently, having apparently heard a word he wanted to know the ASL for. _"Teach me."_

Bruce broke down the sentence until he reached the sign Peter wanted.

 _"Dead._ [ _trill_ ] _is dead."_ He paused. _"_ Mmama _is dead."_

"...This is 'mama,'" Bruce taught him.

 _"Mama is dead,_ [ _trill_ ] _is dead."_

"My mother is dead, too, and my father."

Peter cocked his head, warily intrigued. _"You dead them?"_

"NO." The boy hissed in alarm, and Bruce made an effort to soften his tone. "No, Peter; someone else killed them. ...This is 'kill,' by the way." _'Why am I teaching him a grim sign like that?'_ "A bad man killed my mother and father, and I was very, very sad."

 _"Mama dead. Mama kill Mama. I sleep with Mama dead, I don't like it, scared, Mama not awake, I don't like it. That Man You come. Hurt Mama dead, me him leave, hurt me. You. Me angry you."_ Peter's face, blank at first, was twisting now as his signing grew sharper. Bruce had the feeling that what Peter was telling him, accusatory as it already was, would have been even more painful if the boy had more vocabulary.

Bruce swallowed. "What words do you need?" Peter twittered at him in frustration. Bruce tried different signs, again with that guilty teaching-my-child-bad-words feeling, until Peter had the ones he needed.

 _"You burn Mama! Bad Laugh Man burn her, take me away, hurt me! I hate Bad Laugh Man, I hate you!"_

"Peter, it _wasn't me_. He looked like me, I know he hurt you very badly, but that _wasn't me_. I-"

Triumphant crowing from much too far away seized Bruce's attention. To his horror, he saw John up in a tree, dropping something down to Jack, who picked at it for a second and then brought it to his mouth. "Boys, no!" He rushed over and discovered that the loot John was sharing with his brother was from a sparrow's nest he had just raided. "NO. NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT."

" _CROW_!"

It wasn't noon yet, but Bruce decided it was definitely time to get the children back to the house for lunch.

o.o.o.o.o

"So~ how was your day?" Tim looked both amused and genuinely curious.

"Dick is amazing," Bruce said flatly.

Dinner was a quieter affair than it had been for the past several days, partially because there were fewer people and partially because the Robins seemed more subdued than usual.

"Babysitting them can't be _that_ hard," Damian scoffed. "Unpleasant, certainly, but not difficult."

"Two of them ate raw eggs out of a bird's nest while Bruce was talking to the third one about death and corpse-burning," Duke reported mildly.

Tim chuckled at the look on Damian's face.

Bruce opened his mouth to protest that Duke was making it sound worse than it was, then closed it again without speaking when he realized that nothing Duke said had even been exaggerated.

The Robins were cooperative and quiet, even somewhat lethargic as they took turns asking for food and chewed mechanically. Bruce hoped they weren't getting sick, but Peter hadn't eaten any of the eggs and he seemed depressed, too.

 _"Please give me food."_

"Ffoo-duh, pllllease."

 _"Please give me mashed potato._ Ppo-tta-to, ppees."

Bruce looked around at them. "Are you all sad?"

 _"Sad,"_ they affirmed. "No Dd'ckk," Jack murmured, and John added heavily, _"_ [big _chirp-chirp_ ] _is dead."_

Bruce nearly choked, even as an analytical part of his mind noted that the children were apparently teaching each other - John had been otherwise occupied when Bruce had showed Peter the sign for 'dead.'

"What did you tell them, Bruce?" Tim sighed.

"John, I _told_ you Dick is coming back next week!"

The boy simply gazed at him. He was probably used to being lied to by an authority figure who took cruel pleasure in manipulating his emotions.

"...I'll be back. Damian, take over."

"Why me?!"

"Duke's been helping me all day, Tim has been working, and Alfred made dinner. Now it's your turn to contribute."

"*SIIIIIIGH*"

Peter perked up a bit. "Ffoo'peez!"

Bruce, leaving the room to call Dick, wearily pretended that he didn't notice Damian dumping food on the boy's plate despite the lack of enunciation.

Dick took a while to pick up and sounded wary when he did. _"Bruce?"_

"Dick, can you spare a few minutes to vidchat with the boys? They think you're dead, and they won't believe me when I tell them you're not."

 _"Seriously?! Okay, hold on a sec... I've been helping Shawn at the shelter, and afterward we're going to grab something to eat before I go on patrol, but I can talk for a few minutes."_

Once they were visually connected, Bruce carried the phone back into the dining room. _"Heeeey, baby birds!"_ Dick called.

" _CROW_! _CROW_! _CROW_!"

It was pure chaos for a minute or two. By the end of it, Bruce was sporting some new scratches, his phone had been disconnected and damaged, Damian had exited the room, and the Robins' excited shrieking had turned to dismayed, angry screaming because Dick was gone again.

"SETTLE DOWN."

All three children crouched on the floor, tense and frightened and seething as they fixated on Bruce.

"Stay _calm_ , and you can see Dick. _Stay. Calm._ "

 _"Give me_ Ddi'ckk _,"_ Jack signed, looking almost murderous.

"Ddi'ckk, Dd'ickk," John crooned in distress.

 _"I hate you!"_ Peter gestured emphatically.

"...Calm. Are you ready?"

They stared at him, still looking like cats preparing to pounce.

"Calm." Cautiously, he reconnected, keeping the screen turned toward his chest.

Dick's voice was full of amusement and a bit of concern. _"...Baby birds?"_

" _crow_!"

Bruce gestured sharply as they jerked. There was a stare-off for an intense moment, then they coiled back into their hunting-cat poses. Bruce slowly turned the screen to them.

 _"_ _There_ _you are~!"_

All three of them immediately burst into a flurry of ASL too fast, sloppy, and disjointed for anyone to catch more than a few random words of.

 _"Whoa!"_ Dick stared for a minute, smiled, and gave up on even trying to understand when they were still so worked up. He started to sing instead. _"...[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_ As he'd hoped, they calmed down in order to watch him in fascination. Bruce sat down on the floor so they could see the screen better. _"...[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_

They were riveted until Dick stopped singing. Then they immediately started signing again, but more understandably this time.

 _"Not dead, happy, not dead, happy...!"_

 _"COME HERE NOW. COME HERE."_

 _"You went away, I don't like it!_ Ii wwuh, wwwahtt Ddi'ckk!"

 _"Hey, listen. I have to be gone for a while, but I promise I'll come back in a few days, okay?"_

" _crow_!"

 _"Look, you're not my only babies. I have other people to take care of, too, see?"_ Dick turned his phone outward, revealing the shelter full of displaced Gothamites he'd been serving. It wasn't the primary reason he had come to Blüdhaven, but it was the one he thought the Robins were most likely to understand. _"They need help, so I'm going to help them for a few days. Then I'll come back home and help you again."_

"NNNO! NNO!" Peter shrieked angrily.

 _"OURS, you are OURS, not theirs!"_ Jack insisted.

But John seemed to understand. "Ddi'ckk _goodbye,"_ he said sadly, then added in bird language, _"Two flocks, us flock and them flock, you protect them. I protect mine. Sad, I miss you."_ Then in ASL, _"Sad. Goodbye."_

 _"I'll come back, Johnny. I promise. I'll come back."_

When the call ended, Peter hid under the table and Jack clawed at the floor, breaking a few of his fingernails before Bruce could stop him. _"ANGRY! ANGRY!"_

John started crooning and didn't stop except to draw breath. Jack crawled to curl up beside Peter, and John lay on top of them both. It seemed to comfort them, so the three of them were left undisturbed until it was time to get them ready for bed.

Bruce helped Alfred move a queen-sized mattress and bedding into the corner of his room. In the master bathroom afterward, they worked together to get the boys bathed, changed, and brushed, then targeted the older boys' masks. Peter sat on the floor, tensely enduring Alfred's patient ministrations; John kept leaning against Bruce. When Bruce propped him back up for the fourth time, John flopped across his lap. Bruce, exasperated, adjusted him. "Stay still, John. I think I've almost got this half off..."

At last, the final fragment of Peter's mask slipped free. He crowed in delight and kept rubbing at his raw face until Alfred bribed him with a treat to sit still again so he could apply a gentle cream to the damaged skin. "If you'll just wait a few moments more, Master Peter, I'll finish up and you'll feel much better."

Bruce, encouraged by the success with Peter and by how much of John's mask he'd managed to get off, worked too hastily at the final fragment. When he finally pulled it free of the boy's temple, it tore skin along with it, and John whimpered in pain, though he didn't move. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, John, I'm so sorry...!" Bruce gently dabbed ointment onto the spot, and by the time he'd bandaged it and put cream on the rest, John had closed his eyes and nestled into his free arm like an infant.

Bruce looked at the child for a long moment, glanced over to see that Alfred was still preoccupied, then signed, _"Precious."_ He reached for the jar of muscle relaxant that Alfred had set to warm nearby. Peter and especially Jack could go longer between applications, but John needed fresh relief every night.

By the time Bruce carried the sleeping boy over to the 'Robins' nest,' the younger two were curled up together, looking at books. Bruce laid John down beside them, hesitated, then sat down on the floor. The awake boys eyed him warily. "Would you like me to read one of those books to you?" After a moment, Jack used one book to push another in the man's direction. Bruce picked it up and started to read, but both boys kept pulling at the cover until Bruce realized he needed to hold the book like a kindergarten teacher so the children could see the pictures. " _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_ -"

"Jj'ckk! Mme!"

"Er- Well, you're my Jack. This is a different Jack."

"Mme."

"...Never mind, I'm going to re-name this one Zack. First came Zack, ' _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_ "

He finished and bid them good night. Peter exchanged twitters with his youngest brother and then went right to sleep; Jack had apparently agreed to take the first watch.

For the first time since the Robins' arrival, the night passed uneventfully.

 _TBC_

A/N: I had a _really_ hard time figuring out who should be the dead Robin. I'm not 100% satisfied with making it Carrie, but it was the best solution I could come up with. (That fourth Robin has been problematic for me from the start; the only reason I didn't cut it out of this fic entirely was because I was so impacted by the mental image of feral Peter chewing on the corpse. *sweatdrop*)


	10. Chapter 6, Part 1

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 6.1 (rough draft 2)**

It was a relief when the repairs were finished, at least to Bruce, who felt comfortable in his own house again. Damian and Duke both seemed to be bored and restless, and spent hours either training or just...gone.

Bruce kept meaning to investigate more, but he'd usually only have time to check on a tracker location and vital signs before he'd be distracted by a Robin knocking something over, or a Robin hitting one of his brothers, or a Robin eating something that wasn't food, or a Robin tugging on his shirt to get his attention...

 _"I pet the cat, I am gentle, he is soft, I love him,"_ John reported.

"Very good, John," Bruce said, glad that at least one of the Robins could now touch the cat without hurting or scaring him.

"'Ppo-kka Ffss,' plllease," Jack asked Duke.

"Little man, I am so tired of that song..."

Jack swerved over to Bruce and presented the phone he had somehow gotten ahold of. "'Ppo-kka Ffss,' pllllease."

"Where in the world did you get this?" Bruce murmured, inspecting the device. Jack must have found a stash of older, discarded models.

"'PPO-KKA FFSS.' PPEES."

"It won't work on that one, Jack. I'll have to do it on mine." Bruce tapped at the screen, silently debating whether he should get a tablet or something for Jack. He had a feeling the little boy would be on it 24/7 if he did. _'Maybe I'll let him have one when he learns enough to be able to purchase it himself.'_ "Jack, when the song is over, I'm going to start teaching you how to count money."

"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]"

"And if you're going to sing the rest, please use the child-friendly lyrics...I can't believe Dick taught you this..."

Bruce glanced around and realized that Duke had vanished while he was preoccupied.

He had to wait until the song was over to send a _Where are you?_ text. He started laying out coins and bills for Jack and teaching him how much each was worth, then finally received a reply from Duke: _hangin out w izzy and them_. Another text came in from Tim before he could type back: _Just one hour, Bruce. I'll keep an eye on the birds if I have to._

Bruce sighed and texted Alfred, who was working in the gardens. The two of them got the children dressed in nicer clothes with high collars to conceal the leash scars, and Bruce, anticipating multiple possible future scenarios, asked Alfred for sunglasses. The ever-reliable butler managed to produce three pairs that fit the boys but were large enough to cover most of the domino mask-shaped scars on John's and Peter's faces.

Of course the boys' immediate reaction was to pull the glasses off again and either throw them away or play with them.

"John, you have to keep it on, for Dick's sake. It's to protect Dick."

John paused. _"Safe_ Ddi'ckk _safe?"_

"Yes. Wear the sunglasses to protect Dick." He turned to Peter. "Look, Peter, I will wear sunglasses, too." He put on his own pair. "They don't hurt at all, see?"

 _"Keep [big chirp-chirp] safe,"_ John twittered at his brothers, who grudgingly put their sunglasses back on (it took a few tries and a bit of help - their fine motor skills needed some work). With snug hats to cover their green hair and the tips of the older boys' ears (Jack's were passably round by now), they almost looked like ordinary children.

When the kids were ready, Bruce went to check on Damian, who was still asleep in his room with Titus. Bruce was becoming increasingly concerned about why Damian had recently been spending so many daylight hours in bed, but he couldn't do anything about it at the moment. He touched a feather-light kiss to his son's hair, left a note in case the boy woke up while they were still gone, then went to the car to help Alfred get the Robins buckled in.

That took quite a while, since being strapped in caused the children to panic. They quieted a little when Bruce buckled himself in, but were still too upset to even sit down until Jack managed to figure out how to work the buckle.

"Yes, but you have to keep it fastened when the car's moving. It's to keep you safe, boys. Safe."

John finally submitted to the seatbelt, at the cost of immediately falling into what looked like a dissociative episode. It took almost half an hour to convince Peter to let someone fasten his belt, and even then, he insisted it be Jack, whose tiny, fumbling fingers struggled with the mechanism for another full four minutes. By that time, John had come back to himself and was crying, and Bruce couldn't even comfort him because the boy screamed at even the smallest movement in his direction.

 _'I hate Earth -22. I hate that world with all my heart.'_

At long last, Alfred was able to start the car. At first, the children whimpered in fear, but then grew transfixed by the moving view outside the windows. John rested his face on the glass and gazed out silently; the younger two exclaimed and cooed, their fear finally forgotten.

When the car slid into a parking space at Wayne Tower, Bruce pulled out a package of treats before the children could remember to be upset again. "Look. You did well with the seatbelts. Stay _calm_ , I'm going to take them off, you're going to hold onto my hand or Alfred's, and you'll get a treat for leaving the seatbelts on while we drove." Peter and Jack grabbed their rewards as usual; John looked too sick to take his. He shied away from Bruce and clung to Alfred. "All right. That's all right, John. You did well in the car. Good job."

Wayne Tower had always offered childcare services for WE employees, and the center on the second floor had expanded its functions since the apocalypse. It wasn't quite as crowded now as it had been a week earlier, but a fair number of refugee families still remained. Bruce didn't like the idea of leaving the Robins in the childcare center while he went to meet with Tim, but Alfred convinced him that it would do the boys good to interact with normal children their own age.

"Someone might get hurt."

"I will look after them, Master Bruce, and I did trim their nails this morning."

"We haven't fixed their fangs yet."

"They haven't bitten any of the animals at home." Which was true. Peter and the cat still occasionally got into fights, but the boy tended to pull or hit rather than bite, even when Alfred scratched him up. As long as that trend continued, he wouldn't cause any more damage than an ordinary child might, if things went south.

"...All right. But bring them to me if they look like they're getting agitated."

He went with them to make sure they settled in okay, and was swarmed by a little group of employees' spouses who were taking turns supervising the kids. After talking with them a while, briefly responding to their curiosity about his odd new foster children, and making sure that the Robins weren't wreaking havoc, he excused himself and headed for a stairwell.

o.o.o.o.o

Ronin Walker had stopped counting the number of days her family had been homeless, because it was too depressing and the last thing her husband and children needed from her right now was more negativity. So she took things one day at a time, and made a point to thank God every morning that Trace still had his job and that there was a safe place for all four of them to sleep at night and live during the day.

It was okay that there wasn't really anywhere to go outside this building, and that Ronin had to rely on the company cafeteria for food rather than being able to cook her family's meals herself, and that they had to share the building's grand total of ten showers with so many other people who needed to wash their clothes as well as bathe. It was okay that Ronin's children were often bored out of their minds and that they all had to sleep crowded together in Trace's office every night. She and her husband and Mackenzie and Johanna were all alive and safe, so life was good; thank you, Jesus.

Ronin was on childcare duty today with Margie Sawyer, Mel Hammond, and Renée Harper. A few of the parents were tentatively taking their older children to the makeshift school that had opened recently, but the streets of Gotham were still not quite safe when there weren't at least a couple of GCPD officers in sight, and Ronin was one of many who had opted to keep her children 'home' for now. She kept making vague plans to create some sort of self-study program for the girls, but things kept going wrong or she kept being too busy to finish the necessary research and preparations, so the only education her kids had been getting for the past few weeks was the children's book series of historical fiction that Johanna had been plowing through.

"We could try lessons for the little ones, at least," Ronin suggested. "I found some preschool songs on the Internet the other day, numbers and letters, that sort of thing. Frankie said it was easier when they had some structure, rather than just letting the kids free play all day."

"Oh, sure, sounds good," Margie said, fanning herself and making no actual contribution.

"I think I'm going to do another head count," Mel said anxiously, even though he'd _just_ counted the kids twenty minutes ago.

Renée came briskly back from the sink, where she'd just washed her hands after changing a diaper. "I wish Diane would toilet-train her children soon. _Mine_ were already out of diapers by that age."

 _'Trace still has his job, the girls are alive and safe and healthy, life is good, thank you, Jesus,'_ Ronin silently chanted.

Someone came to the door of the childcare center, and it was Bruce Wayne. Just as Ronin was forcing a smile onto her face and pushing down resentful assumptions about how he'd probably been partying in the Bahamas or something during the apocalypse, and was probably going to fly out to one of his other millions of vacation homes within the hour - she saw the children.

There were three of them, two clinging to his butler and the third holding Mr. Wayne's hand. They were dressed oddly, as if they had some obscure allergy or medical condition, though their outfits couldn't quite conceal all the old scars that marked their skin; and their _teeth_...! Perhaps Mr. Wayne hadn't been partying these last couple of weeks, after all.

Renée and Mel were closer to the door, so they were the ones who greeted him. "Mr. Wayne! This is an unexpected surprise!"

"I got called in for a meeting - I was hoping I could leave my foster children here for an hour or so."

"Of course, of course! You have new ones?"

All eyes were now on the children. The tiny one holding Mr. Wayne's hand gestured in what looked like sign language. Behind them, the oldest child looked both tense and tired as he held tight to the butler, and the third child bared his fang-like teeth at all the staring adults.

"Yes. Their circumstances are complicated, and I couldn't leave them to the mercy of the foster system, especially with Gotham in the state it is right now."

Ronin, though alarmed at the prospect of allowing these strange creatures to join the rest of the children - surely Mr. Wayne wouldn't bring them here if they were dangerous, would he? - warmed at the confirmation that, no, the billionaire hadn't been living it up while his employees suffered. He may not have been enduring the same hardships they had, but he hadn't been taking it easy, either.

"Look at the poor things, all bundled up," Margie said. "We can put their hats and sunglasses over-"

" _No_." Everyone looked at him in surprise, but Mr. Wayne's expression and tone were already pleasant again. "No, the kids are pretty sensitive and tend to spook easy, it'd be best if we leave their gear on." He cocked an eyebrow at them all. "I'd appreciate it if their boundaries are respected."

"Oh, of course, Mr. Wayne!"

"This is Jack, that's John, and that's Peter. Jack and Peter can speak a little, but all three boys communicate mostly with sign language. Please ask Alfred if you have any questions or run into any trouble."

Alfred, who had been working to get the older boys settled at the art table with some paper and crayons, nodded in acknowledgement.

Ronin approached the youngest child and held out her hand. "Hello, sweetheart. Would you like to come with me and I can show you some of the toys we have?"

"Tt...ttoy, plllease."

Margie and Renée stifled snickers, but Ronin's heart melted. Mr. Wayne hadn't just taken in more blue-eyed, black-haired children to boost his image, he had opened his heart and home to three special little children, and the boy had asked so sweetly, and he was so _tiny_ , Ronin wanted to give him all the toys in the world.

"Good asking, Jack." Mr. Wayne crouched to the boy's level and looked him hard in the eye. "Be _gentle_ , Jack. Gentle."

"Gge'ttle."

Mr. Wayne lowered his voice, but Ronin was still close enough to hear him. "Like cats. The other children are like cats, all right? No scratching, no pulling, no hitting. _Gentle._ "

Well. The fact that that warning was necessary was somewhat alarming.

The little boy gesticulated in sign language again, at one point making a noise that sounded like "Aahffed."

"Yes. Be nice to Alfred the cat, be nice to Alfred the human, and be nice to the children here."

"Yysss."

"All right. Now go play."

The little boy turned and trotted away, straight toward a toy that he apparently found interesting. Unfortunately, the toy was already being played with by a child named William. Jack matter-of-factly plucked the toy out of William's hands and took no notice of the other boy's dismayed cry and subsequent tearful wailing.

" _Jack_!" Mr. Wayne started storming over.

Jack immediately started petting William, practically climbing on him and forcing him to the ground as he ran his palm over the screaming boy's head and shoulders. "Gge'ttle! I gge'ttle!" He insisted.

Mr. Wayne pulled Jack off, then stood there awkwardly holding the squirming, shrieking child as Margie rushed to snatch up William and fuss over him. Everyone stared at Mr. Wayne and the creature he had brought into their midst. "We...haven't..." he started awkwardly. He looked at the boy he was holding. "Jack, you have to share these toys."

"Ssshhare!" Jack said angrily, then burst into a series of noises that sounded like birdsong.

Peter, watching from behind the bank of cubbies, chortled and bird-sang back. John was curled up tightly on the floor with his hands clamped over his ears.

 _'Oh my God,'_ Margie mouthed in disbelief.

Mr. Wayne shook his head, looking pained, and Ronin's heart went out to him. "If they can just have a few toys and books in a corner somewhere, no one has to go near them. Alfred can look after them; I just need an hour to take care of some business, and then I'll take them home."

It was terrible, the way everyone else in the room had moved away from the bird-like children, the judgmental way the other two women were watching, the way Mr. Wayne's little boys looked so unhappy in a place that had been specifically designed to be welcoming to kids. Ronin stepped forward and knelt to Jack's level, reaching out her hands to the frightened-looking boy, but not touching him yet. "Jack, may I hold you?"

He paused and studied her. Then Mr. Wayne let go and Jack was immediately in her arms and she found that he was shaking a little. Ronin smiled up at Mr. Wayne. "We've got them. It's all right."

He looked uncertain. "I've... They've never been to school, I haven't gotten a chance to teach them everything-"

"It's all right. Everything will be fine."

Mr. Wayne rested a hand on Jack's head and said, "Be good, Jack. I'll come back later." Then he went to say goodbye to the other boys. The watching children lost interest, and Mackenzie came up to her mother.

"What's wrong with these kids, Mom?"

"There's nothing wrong with them, sweetie. They're just a little scared and maybe don't know how to share yet, that's all. But they'll learn." She picked up the abandoned toy, since William was now on the other side of the room, playing with blocks with some other children. "Jack? Sweetie? You can have this toy now."

He raised his face out of her shoulder, looked around the room, then sat up straight. He took the toy and started pressing buttons on it, looking confident and self-assured again.

"Did you want Mackenzie to play with you?"

"Mom!"

But Jack did not respond or even look at them, totally absorbed in the toy.

"Kenzie, keep an eye on him and let me know if he starts looking lonely, okay?" Since the butler was already with Peter, speaking coaxingly to him, Ronin went over to Mr. Wayne's third child. The boy was still on the floor, though by now he had uncurled and was lethargically running a crayon over the coloring sheet that Mr. Wayne had moved to the floor for him.

Ronin sat down on the floor nearby, and he eyed her. "Hello, John. My name is Mrs. Walker."

After a pause, he made a gesture she didn't recognize.

"I'm sorry I don't know much sign language. I taught my girls a few words when they were babies, but I never actually learned it for real."

He sat up and moved his hands in what must have been at least a whole sentence in ASL.

"Er..." She had no idea what he'd said, so she looked for a way to change the subject. "What a pretty coloring page you have, John." She reached for another sheet and picked up a magenta crayon. "Would you like me to color with you?" He watched closely as she worked on her coloring sheet for a minute. Then he reached out to gently touch her fingernails. Her first instinct was to hide them - she hadn't had a chance to fix them since the apocalypse, and they were so ugly by now, but then it occurred to her that he was a little boy and wouldn't care about the state of her nail polish. It was probably just the bright color that had attracted his attention.

"It's Robin's Egg Blue," she said in embarrassment. "I know it's not a good color on me, but it looked so pretty in the sample I couldn't help trying it out, and then the world practically ended and I haven't had a chance to re-do them... I look much better with pink, and definitely better when they're not all chipped and half-grown out..."

"Wwah'bbin," he whispered. Then he crawled into her arms. She wasn't expecting that, but the sensation of a child's warm body snuggling into hers was firing up her maternal instincts, and she cuddled him back.

"Such a sweet boy," she crooned. "Hello there, sweet bird."

He abruptly pulled back, staring at her in a surprised, almost dismayed way.

"You don't like that?" she guessed. "Too girly for you?"

He made a frightened, bird-like sound.

"All right, all right, it's okay, um, tiger." She didn't have sons, she didn't know any manly endearments. "Tiger boy?"

He laid back against her, though he still seemed tense for a while.

TBC


	11. Chapter 6, Part 2

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 6.2 (rough draft 2)**

Margie and Renée had not stopped gossiping from the moment the door had closed behind Mr. Wayne. "Where did he _find_ these kids?! In a circus?"

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time."

"A zoo, maybe."

Ronin cringed, hoping that the butler was out of earshot.

"They can't _talk_!"

"Maybe they're, what's it called, autistic?" Mel wondered. His voice suddenly went hushed. "I hope that's not a bad word. I don't actually know."

"It's not a bad word, Mel," Ronin said, then remembered that she technically didn't know anything about autism herself. "I think."

"I hope they don't go anywhere near my Bridget," Margie huffed. "Did you _see_ what that brat did to poor little William?!"

"I certainly hope Mr. Wayne doesn't intend to bring them here every day. They need _different_ accommodations."

"I wonder what he's hiding with those hats and sunglasses."

As Margie stalked toward Jack, who was now working on an elaborate Lego construction, Ronin cast another desperate glance at the butler. The man, Alfred, had managed to coax Peter out into the open, but was still wholly preoccupied refereeing between Peter and a boy named Lake, who was friendly but violent and often got scolded for playing too rough.

Margie picked at Jack, who kept pushing her away in annoyance but didn't stop her from peeking under his hat and sunglasses. She finally came back, giggling. "Their hair is _green_! Why do they have green hair?! And he has little marks around his eyes if you look close, _all_ of them look like someone's been beating them up. I bet that sicko really does have lots of 'fun' with all those orphans he keeps adopting, the poor things!" Despite the lip-service to concern for the children's well-being, she looked like she was relishing the new fodder for some of the uglier rumors that cropped up every so often about Bruce Wayne and the boys he kept taking in.

"Please, Margie." Ronin peeked under John's sunglasses herself, trying to determine if there really were signs of recent abuse. She was startled to find that the hints of scarring on the bridge of his nose was more extensive than she'd expected: discolored and damaged skin covered at least a quarter of his face. In fact, it had a familiar shape, just like...

She carefully nudged the glasses back into place and, still holding John with one arm, took out her phone with the other. It didn't take long to find a news article on that disturbing recent attack on Arkham Asylum, the one involving children dressed like Robin.

 _'My God, it's_ _them_ _. Mr. Wayne somehow managed to rescue the poor things. ...My God. That's blood on their mouths.'_

Perhaps John felt her tense, because he raised his head to look at her again. Though his mouth was clean now, it was hard to tear her eyes away from his frighteningly sharp teeth. She couldn't bear being so close to him and not being able to see his eyes, so she took his glasses off entirely. He gazed back at her, his eyes a beautiful shade of blue with a peculiar touch of gold, and her heart rate calmed a bit. "John," she whispered, "you're not going to hurt anyone here, are you?"

He signed something. She had no idea what it was, but it was reassuring all the same. _'Their scary smiles in that photo, the green hair - they were Jokerized. They weren't in their right minds. They're not Jokerized now, they're just ordinary, hurt little children now, and they need love and understanding, not fear and mockery.'_

"*ahem* Pardon me, madam." The butler's voice was as cold as ice, and Ronin guiltily hurried to put John's sunglasses back on.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean- I just- They were Joker victims, right? Mr. Wayne rescued them."

Alfred thawed a little bit. "Just so, madam. Master John, come." The boy rose out of Ronin's lap and took the butler's hand, making a pleased crowing noise.

Things settled down for a while. Jack seemed perfectly happy playing by himself - he scared off any children who got too close, but at least he didn't actively bother anyone. John wandered from group to group, and though some of the children shied away from him or got protective of their toys, a few pulled at him curiously, and one bossy child assigned him a role in her game of House. Peter kept causing one ruckus after another, but though his unusual appearance and vocalizations drew more attention, he technically didn't cause more trouble than Lake usually did. He and Lake actually seemed to be getting along quite well, despite their frequent brawls. Lake, when he wasn't getting a taste of his own medicine, seemed rather amazed that he finally had a playmate who never burst into tears or tattled on him like the other children usually did.

At one point, Ronin was sitting in a rocking chair, trying to hold fussy little Cherise still long enough to give her a bottle. John approached, bedecked with flower stickers that he'd let a little girl put on him earlier. Ronin was nervous at first that he might hurt the infant, but when he reached out, it was palm-first and slowly. He made very gentle contact and stroked his hand over Cherise's silky hair, and almost at once, she quieted and started sucking.

"Nice and gentle, Johnny," Ronin murmured in approval. "Very nice." John started to make a cooing sound like a dove that Ronin herself found comforting, and Cherise relaxed. Ronin smiled. "I think the baby likes you. She's never this calm for anyone but her mother."

He signed something.

"I'm so sorry, John, I don't know sign language. Oh, you're such a good boy. You're so good with the baby."

"Bbebbe," he said in that soft, whispery voice. He set a single fingertip on Cherise's cheek and stroked, slowly and carefully. When a bit of white liquid dribbled out of the corner of her mouth, John touched it and brought it to his mouth to taste. Then he made one of the few signs that Ronin recognized.

"'Milk,' that's right. The baby is drinking milk."

More mysterious signing.

"Did you want some milk, too, John?" she guessed. "We don't have any milk for big kids, but we do have juice." She looked around and saw Mel starting to set out snacks for a group of children at a table. "Why don't you go ask Mr. Hammond for some juice and a snack?"

"Bbebbe." He gently touched his lips to Cherise's head and cooed at her some more.

It was Peter who first started prowling around the snack table, growling every time Mel set a muffin or a freshly-opened package of crackers in front of a child. When Mel gave him a nervous look, Peter signed at him.

"Shoo," Renée snapped, clapping her hands sharply at Peter as if he was a stray animal. "Leave them alone!"

He looked like he was about to pounce at her, but Alfred managed to intervene in time.

"Mel, Renée," Ronin said quickly, "I think he just wants a snack, too."

"He can wait his turn," Renée said, ignoring whatever Peter was signing at her.

"But there are plenty of seats and food left, there's no need to make him wait."

Some of the children were watching Peter warily, and a pair of overdramatic girls screamed and ducked every time he passed by.

"Look, he's scaring the children!"

"Then he can eat over here next to me!"

Peter got right in Renée's face to make frustrated, emphatic signs. She shrieked and slapped him - not hard, but Ronin was still shocked. "Renée!"

"Madam-!" Alfred started at the same time, but then had to step in Peter's way to absorb the furious, retaliatory blow meant for the woman. Peter screamed and leaped back, now even more upset.

"Oh, stop, please-" Ronin had to put down the bottle, which caused Cherise to start screaming, too, but she couldn't stand it anymore. She tried to shield the baby from any stray blows as she approached. "Renée, that was uncalled for!"

"He _attacked_ me! You _saw_ him attack me!"

"He didn't try to hit you until you hit him, first! Before that, he was only trying to talk to you!"

"Let's all lower our voices," Alfred said. Several of the other children were joining in with Cherise's and Peter's screams, some for the fun of it and others out of genuine fear. Renée's agitation certainly weren't helping, and neither was Margie, who was pressed into a corner, clutching her daughter tightly and shrieking something into her phone. John was moving between his brother and the baby, adding to the din with his own noises of distress.

"Here," Mel said anxiously, "here. Peter, here, you can have a snack, too. Please don't hurt me." He stretched out one arm to offer a packaged muffin with the tips of his fingers.

Whatever it was that seemed to be making Peter so upset, this was apparently the last straw. He screamed again, made a vicious swipe at Mel that Alfred managed to knock off-target, then dashed out the door.

o.o.o.o.o

Everyone seemed glad to see Bruce when he walked into the conference room where the meeting was. "Bruce! Glad you could make it."

"Thank you, Lucius. It looks like everyone's been doing great work. Tim, fill me in."

They made it through nearly 45 minutes before Bruce got a text from Alfred. _Master Bruce, I'm afraid that Master Peter has gone missing._ "Excuse me, gentlemen."

"Bruce, wait, if you'll just let me finish-!"

"I _have_ to go, there's been a problem with one of my children."

"Something's wrong with the kids?!"

He'd forgotten that many of his employees were still, despite hiding it behind game faces when they were working, traumatized by recent events. Half of them got up to accompany him at the mere hint that their children might be in danger. "No, no, he's probably just run off and gotten lost, I'm sure the center itself is fine-"

They were not soothed, so when Bruce came back to the second floor, he was trailed by a resigned-looking Tim and about five or six anxious-looking parents.

The center itself was a little chaotic, but not overly so, considering how many children were inside. Most of them were playing, watching a movie on the TV in a corner of the room, or eating snacks; some of them were dubiously watching John, who was having a meltdown in another corner as Jack held onto Alfred's coat and trilled anxiously.

Bruce hurried over to them. "John. John. Calm down, no, don't do that, chum, please." He held John's hands to stop him from clawing at himself, trying to be gentle enough that the boy wouldn't find it threatening.

"[ _caw_ ]! [ _caw_ ]!"

"Yes, I know, but I can't go look for him until you calm down. Do you understand? You have to calm down, John." Perhaps it was too many words. "Calm. Gentle. Soft. ...Good. Talk to me, John."

 _"...Gone!"_ the boy finally managed to sign.

"Yes. Be still and calm for Alfred, and I will go look for Peter."

 _"Scared!_ [ _caw_ ] _scared!"_

"Yes, I know. Are _you_ scared, John?"

 _"I want_ [ _caw_ ] _. I want_ [ _caw_ ] _."_

"Ssshh." John let Bruce hold him for a minute. "Here. Will you sit here with Alfred instead? Sit here, and I'll bring some books for Alfred to read to you, and I will look for Peter, all right? I will bring him back safe."

John crooned sadly. _"_ [ _caw_ ] _scared. Bad food,_ ha ha _food."_

"...What?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what exactly it was that upset him so much, sir," Alfred offered, "but Master Peter reacted badly when Mr. Hammond over there was setting out snacks for the children."

"I'll ask him. Oh, thank you, Jack." The little boy had, of his own accord, gone to fetch a pile of books, and he now settled down with his brother as Alfred opened the first book to read to them. Bruce, hoping that no one had happened to take any pictures of the scars on John's face, gently re-fitted the sunglasses that the boy must have knocked off in his distress.

When Bruce headed for the intently conversing huddle of adults by the door, a woman with a three-year-old on her hip turned to address him. "We can help you look for him, Mr. Wayne."

"He ran right out the door!" another woman exclaimed. "He was so _fast_ , by the time we got to the door, we couldn't even see him in the hall or which way he'd gone."

"It's fine, I-"

"He's not allergic to anything, is he?" Hammond asked anxiously. "I don't know what set him off, Mr. Wayne, I was just handing out snacks like usual-"

"Really, it's okay-"

"-he was already upset, I thought he wanted a muffin, too, so I gave him one, but he yelled and ran. I don't know what I did, Mr. Wayne, I _swear_ I didn't mean to scare him!"

"I'm just going to-"

"We should call security and have them check the cameras," someone suggested.

"And in the meantime, we'll split up," the second woman said briskly. "I'm sure he can't have gone far, and with all of us looking, we'll find him in a jiffy."

Bruce was exasperated. He didn't want to reveal that he routinely put trackers on his children, so he was going to have to play along with the search party for a least a little while.

Tim saved him. "I know where he is," he said, lowering his phone. "He scared Saychelle out of her office, and she reported it to the wrong person. They only just now figured out he's Bruce's kid."

That room was two corridors away. Bruce headed there at once, followed by a little group of concerned or curious adults and one or two children who wouldn't let go of their parents.

Saychelle was standing near her office, talking animatedly to a couple of security guards. "...and he _flew_ at me screaming like a little monster, I thought he was going to bite me! I _ran_ out of there, I tell you, _ran_! Oh, Mr. Wayne, hello! Oh, I wouldn't go in there if I were you, there's a scary little boy in there!"

Ignoring her, Bruce started crossing her office, paused, sharply gestured for everyone who had followed him in to back out again, then continued cautiously until he saw Peter glaring at him from the shadows under Saychelle's desk. "Hello, Peter," he said softly.

 _"Go away!"_

"I won't come any closer. I'm just going to sit right here, Peter, so we can talk for a minute." He sat down on the floor. "Are you upset, Peter?"

 _"Bad food!"_

"Mr. Hammond told me he tried to give you a snack. Alfred made muffins for breakfast a few days ago, don't you remember? You liked them then. Was something wrong with this one?"

"...Ffoo'ppeez."

"You want food?"

"Ffoo'ppeez! _You give food to me._ Nno 'ffoo'ppeez,' no ffoo-duh!"

"Oh." Now he felt a little guilty, even though he had good reason to make the children practice their new communication skills. "He did it wrong, is that it? He did something you didn't expect; the routine was different. Is that why you're upset?"

 _"You give me, Bad Laugh Man give me good food, talk nice, pet me, bad food, bad food,_ ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

Bruce suddenly remembered Peter's reaction to the only other freely-offered food he'd had during his time in the Wayne household. The only reason he hadn't been triggered since then was because after that, he'd always earned (or 'stolen') his food in some way. "We'll...we'll talk about this later, Peter." He didn't want to discuss his eight-year-old son's firsthand experience with poisoned bait when there were outsiders watching curiously from the doorway. "For now, why don't we give Saychelle her office back. John is very worried about you. Follow me back to the childcare center, and we can show him that you're safe."

He stood up and moved back, and a minute later, Peter crept out from under the desk. Bruce picked up the discarded hat and sunglasses from the floor and, after several uneasy rebuffs from Peter, managed to get them back onto the boy.

As soon as they came out into the hall, most of the adults burst into noise, thankful that the child had been found or scolding Peter or congratulating Bruce or teasing Saychelle, and some of them tried to grab Peter, probably thinking he'd run away again if not anchored down. Bruce managed to shield the child until he'd latched onto Tim, the only other person he knew. Tim finished whatever text he'd been typing, slipped the phone into his pocket, and set a protective hand on Peter's head. "Looks like you've had a busy day, huh. Bruce, you can take them home now, I know we're not going to get anymore work out of you today."

Bruce gratefully clapped his shoulder.

Back in the childcare center, John ran to hug his wayward brother as Peter shouted at the snack table, "BBA-DUH MM'FFIN! BA-DUH MM'FFIN!"

Jack, holding a math-themed toy, went straight for Tim and pressed a button. _"Six times six is thi~rty-six!"_ the toy sang. He pressed another button. _"Three~ times four is twelve!"_

Tim smiled a little. "Yeah? I know Bruce started teaching you letters and numbers the other day. What's seven times eight?"

Jack frowned. He looked down at the toy and studied it for a minute. Then he slid his finger across the numbered buttons until he reached the one he wanted. _"Se~ven times eight is fi~fty-six!"_

"Okay, but can you do it without the toy?" Tim pulled it out of his hands. "What's twelve times twelve?"

Jack glared at him. " _crow_ "

"What about one you already did - what's six times six?"

"...Sssi'kk ttimme ssi'kk iih...ssehrry...sssffuh~rry-ssi'kk."

"Nice. Have Bruce teach you the T-H sound." He handed the toy back.

Jack dropped it dismissively. "Ttmm. Hhello, Ttmm."

Tim's faced softened. "Hello, mini me."

"I Ttmm, yyou Ttmm, I nno Ttmm, I Jj'ckk, yyou Ttmm."

"'Guess from your perspective, I'm the one who stole your name, huh," Tim mused. "But I'm the older one, so I get to keep it."

"Ggoohbbye, Ttmm." Jack said goodbye again in ASL, then went to join Bruce, who was calling for him at the door as John tugged crankily at his hand and Peter clung to Alfred.

"Goodbye, Jack," Tim murmured, watching them go. "See you later."

 _TBC_

A/N: (Ftr, "autistic" is not a bad word. I included that part to comment on how ignorant the general public still is about special needs in general.)

 **As of 8 December 2018, this is all I've edited so far. If/when I do get around to editing the rest of the story, you'll be able to tell by whether it says "rough draft" or "rough draft 2" in the parenthesis.**


	12. Chapter 6, Part 3

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 6.3 (rough draft 2)**

On the way home, after an abridged repeat of the seatbelt ordeal, John and Jack became interested in the view out the windows again, but Peter seemed quiet and thoughtful. Finally he said, "Bboooss."

Bruce blinked. It was the first time any of the little Robins had addressed him by name. "Yes, Peter?"

 _"Why don't they tell me?"_

"You mean the people at Wayne Tower?"

 _"I tell them hands, they tell me no hands."_

Vocabulary issues again. Bruce made suggestions until Peter was able to say, _"They don't understand when I sign."_

"Yes. At home, most of us know sign language, but out there, people who don't live with us, many of them don't know sign language. If you only talk with your hands, they can't understand you."

After a long moment, Peter said thoughtfully, "Ffoo-duh, plllease." He looked surprised when Bruce held out a cracker, as if he'd been musing to himself rather than actually asking for food. To make up for it, he said quickly, "Ffoo'ppeez," and snatched up the treat.

 _"Please give me cracker_ , kkya'kah plllease!" Jack immediately demanded, and John held out his hand with a timid, whispered, "Pppeess."

Just as they received their rewards and started gobbling, Bruce's phone buzzed and chimed an alarm. He pulled it out of his pocket to see which child of his had been physically harmed enough to activate the alert system in their tracker. He hoped it was one of his veteran soldiers, who could likely handle any injury that wasn't life-threatening, but no such luck: it was Duke. "Alfred," Bruce said sharply, "I'm putting a new destination into the GPS."

"Yes, sir."

The children looked alarmed at the sudden tense urgency in Bruce's body language, but he didn't have time for more than a rushed, "You're safe, boys, you're safe." He yanked down the portion of the backseat that allowed him access to the trunk, where some emergency clothing and equipment were stashed. An unexpected problem arose when he started to put on the coat.

" _CROW_!"

"NNO! _I hate you!_ NNO! NNO!"

"Nnonononononono!"

Bruce paused, staring at them in frustrated bafflement, until he realized that the long, black garment he would need to cover his business suit bore some resemblance to Batman's cloak. "Dammit." He shoved the coat back into the trunk.

Too late. _"NO BAD LAUGH MAN, NO BAD LAUGH MAN!"_ Jack ordered, as Peter clawed at his seatbelt and continued his fierce chorus of "NO"s, and John started sobbing in terror.

"Alfred, pull into that alley and let me out," Bruce snapped. As soon as the car stopped, he dashed around to the trunk, pulled on a pair of boots, bundled up the rest of what he needed, and rushed away. As soon as he had the chance, he pulled the black ski mask down over his head, flung the black coat around himself, buckled the utility belt around his waist, then fired the grappling hook. He had to get to Duke.

The group of teenagers were all in full Robin gear, most of them injured in some way as they huddled, cornered, against the side of a crumbling warehouse. The thugs were armed; one of them was raising his gun; Duke, though one arm was bleeding and hung stiffly at his side, looked determined as he gripped a projectile in his other hand.

Bruce got there first. A batarang knocked the gun out of the man's hand a second before boot soles crunched into his face. The other men started shouting and shots were fired, but Bruce was fast and experienced, not even needing the bulletproof lining in the coat. It took him less than ten seconds to incapacitate the rest of the gang.

He turned to the Robins, the amateur ones who, with only one exception, were barely trained and should never have been on the streets in uniform. "Get those injuries taken care of," he thundered in his Batman voice, "and then _stay_ _home_."

"Batman," Isabella said cautiously. Though Bruce technically wasn't wearing the cowl, they all knew perfectly well who he was. "We have to show you something first-"

"Duke can show me. The rest of you, get out of here. I _will know_ if you decide not to follow my very simple directions."

After some brief, half-hearted protest, they left it in Duke's hands and slunk away. Duke showed him what they had found in a more intact warehouse farther down. It was evidence of extortion and small-time drug trafficking, but Bruce didn't care. (Much. He did send the information to the rest of the Family, for anyone who was interested to take up the case, and set it on a delayed release to the GCPD if no one was.)

"Duke, you deliberately led me to believe that you were simply spending time with your friends, not engaged in unsupervised vigilante activity."

"Don't tell me that Batman took my text at face value, no questions asked."

"I didn't." He paused. He had _wanted_ to look into it more, but he had been...busy. He was trying so hard to be the parent his newest charges needed him to be, but were his older children suffering as a result...? "Let's get you home and take a look at that arm."

"And then what, Batman?" Duke said, a hard edge to his voice. "Back to babysitting to your latest Robins? Being a freaking prisoner in your mansion? Back to, what, _schoolwork_?"

"...I didn't know you felt like this."

"Br- Batman, you can't do this to me. You can't spend _months_ training me, preparing me for your war, promising me that someday, if I'm good enough and work hard enough, I'll be able to stand next to the rest of your people with my head held high...then suddenly just give it all up to play house with your cute new babies and _leave me hanging_."

 _'...Damn it.'_ It probably wasn't just Duke, either. It was probably Damian, too, the two of his children not old enough to be truly independent yet, too young to fly the nest but too old to compete with their smaller, needier siblings. "We can talk when we get home, Duke."

"No, we can't, because the second we get home, they're going to make goo goo eyes at you and you'll take one look and jump through whatever hoops you have to to make them happy, and totally forget I exist except when you need me to clean up after them or get more snacks for them or _whatever_. They're your kids, Batman. Not mine." His shoulders twitched. "Nightwing wanted me to look after them while he was gone, but I'm not him and I don't love them like he does and it's...not...my job." He sounded on the verge of tears now. "My job was to fight for you, but you don't want to fight anymore and I don't have a job. Anymore."

Bruce carefully set an arm around his shoulders. Duke leaned into him and made visible efforts to regain his composure. "Go ahead and cry," Bruce murmured.

"I'm fine," Duke mumbled.

"Dealing with the children sometimes makes me want to cry, too."

Duke hesitated, then pulled off his helmet. They stood there for a long time, until the quiet sniffles died away. Then Bruce said, "To be honest, Duke...I don't know what to do. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but I can't give you what you need right now."

"I know. I know you mean well. You just can't. There's too many of us."

"I-"

"And I know you can't help it. It's not your fault, I know you don't go looking for them, you just can't turn them away when they drop into your lap." Duke sighed. "And you shouldn't." He rubbed at his eyes. "Dammit, I'm jealous."

Bruce rubbed his shoulder soothingly. "I know. I know you are, and I'm sorry, and I know Da- Robin's probably jealous and resentful and angry, too, and that's another thing I don't know what to do about."

Duke exhaled shakily. "I'm okay now. I can go home and keep babysitting, if you want."

Bruce shook his head. "No, you don't have to. It was wrong of me - and of Nightwing - to just assume you wouldn't have a problem with it. They're _not_ your children, they're not even technically your brothers - you are always, always welcome in my house, Duke, and I love you like family, but you have no obligations to us. I'm sorry." He squeezed a little tighter. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Duke muttered, and side-hugged him back. "I'm sorry, too."

They finally made their way to the car, where they found the children restlessly watching a movie Alfred had put on for them. Bruce remembered to shed the long black coat first, but even so, as soon as he opened the car door, Jack tensed warily, Peter hissed and backed into the farthest corner he could get, and John looked like he was starting to have a panic attack. "Boys, everything is all right. Nothing bad will happen. You are safe. No one is going to hurt you."

They showed no acknowledgement that they had heard him. John continued to shake and whimper, and when Bruce reached to buckle him in for the trip home, the boy grabbed onto him and started crowing desperately. "Ssshh, John, sshh, it's all right, this is just like before to keep you safe, it won't hurt, you can still move your arms and legs, no one is going to hurt you."

The crowing died back into whimpers that tore at Bruce's heart, but then the boy was clawing at himself again, this time trying to rip his clothes off.

" _Please_ , John, no...I _promise you_ that no one will hurt you, _please_...!"

John had at least one more dissociative episode on the drive home. Peter writhed and pulled at his seatbelt for most of it; Jack sat rigidly, signing the words he knew for everything he could see out the window, as if trying to distract himself. He slowly relaxed as Bruce gave him a treat at regular intervals for not struggling, and Peter at last earned a couple of treats for the same reason. John was too far gone to accept anything that was offered to him.

Bruce added seatbelt training to a mental list. The boys were going to have to ride in many cars during their lifetimes, and the sooner they learned to do it without being traumatized by the safety restraints every single time, the better.

When they got home, Bruce ordered Alfred to see to Duke's injury first. He knew it would be difficult to handle the trio of upset Robins on his own, but he was determined to do anything in his power to make his foster son stop feeling like a low priority.

The older boys had emotion-venting tantrums that ended with John falling asleep on the couch and Peter aggressively cuddling with Titus. Jack had a quiet, strange sort of tantrum of his own, then started placing small items in meticulous, mysterious arrangements across the entire rest of the living room floor. Bruce let him, working on his laptop in a corner to kill time, sensing that right now he needed to just back off and watch over his youngest children rather than try to make them do anything for a while.

Peter eventually fell asleep, still clutching the dog. Jack, finishing his project at last, lay down to survey his handiwork from a low angle. He ended up falling asleep for about half an hour, until it was almost time for dinner.

Their naps seemed to have refreshed them, but they were still quieter than usual as they ate, except for Peter, who had taken to mimicking the adults when they spoke. It was, to be honest, rather irritating, but since it soon became obvious that he was using it as a technique to help him learn to speak better, everyone gritted their teeth and encouraged him.

"Woouuld you."

"Wwoouuld yyou."

"Lllike ssome."

"Lll...lllllli'kke sss'mm."

"Mmore wwa-ter."

"Mmmoohh...awwh.

"Wwwa-ter."

"Wwwa-ta."

"Master Brruce."

"Mmassahbbooss."

"Don't teach him to call me that..."

"Ddoh'cheecheehmmagahmmeeah."

"He's not actually calling anyone anything," Tim pointed out. "He's just parroting."

"Nnatcha...gah..." Peter fumbled to a stop; the sentence had been too long.

Damian and Duke both looked like they were nearing their last nerve and were about to leave the table.

Right after dinner, Bruce pulled Peter aside for an amateur speech therapy session, hoping that a thorough lesson every day would get it out of Peter's system so he wouldn't keep mimicking. In the meantime, Tim and Duke tried out different puzzles and mazes on Jack, while John lay on the floor with the cat and stroked carefully, imitating the resulting purrs. Damian had long since pulled off his vanishing act.

The children had gotten somewhat used to undressing to bathe by now, but this time they balked more than usual until Alfred suggested a bubble bath, which the boys loved. As they huddled together on their bed afterward, Bruce called Dick for another vidchat.

 _"What's up, Bruce?"_

"We...had a bad day. I thought the boys might appreciate seeing you again for a few minutes."

 _"Awww, where are my babies~?"_

Bruce brought the phone over to the Robins, who tried to pull it out of his hands. When he didn't let them, they settled around it with their faces as close to the screen as they could get without blocking each other's view.

 _"Hello, baby birds! Did you have a good day today? Bruce said you didn't, but what do_ _you_ _say?"_

The boys watched Dick intently, but made no effort to respond.

 _"Uh...well,_ _I_ _had a busy day today. Slept a lot, but then my friend Shawn and I did some shopping, and visited some of the people she helps, and we even stopped a purse snatcher! In broad daylight, with no costumes! Well, Shawn did, mostly, but I blocked that dastardly villain's path so he had to whirl the other way and run right into Shawn's fist, haha."_

The Robins' silent, utter stillness was unnerving. "Boys," Bruce tried, "can you say hello to Dick?"

There was a long pause. John finally said, still without moving, _"[big chirp-chirp],"_ but it sounded more like a target identifier than a greeting.

 _"...You want me to sing to you?"_ Dick finally tried. Still no response, but he began to sing anyway. _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_

John and Jack soon lay down and fell asleep to the sound of Dick's voice. Peter was still sitting up, but he started to droop, and his eyes drifted shut. Then he startled fully awake with a gasp, seized the phone, and hurled it.

" _Peter_! Don't throw my phone!" Bruce had invested in a good protective case after what had happened to the last one, but still.

o.o.o.o.o

Eight-year-old Dick Grayson had been too cute for Bruce to protest much when he'd started the tradition of prefixing all of Batman's stuff with 'Bat-,' and by now, there was no hope of ending the trend even though Dick was grown and gone. Bruce didn't even bother commenting when the family had started referring to the Robin monitoring system as the 'Bat Baby Monitor.'

It wasn't, technically, a baby monitor, but in this case, it worked just the same as one. One portable unit in the master bedroom was trained on the Robins; the other portable unit, syncable with smartphones and with much better video and audio capabilities than typical baby monitors, could accompany whoever was keeping the closest eye on the little ones. Bruce left it with Alfred, then tapped on his phone to check on Damian.

The boy had muted his tracker, so Bruce had no idea where he was and would waste hours (and probably get a headache) if he insisted on finding out, but at least it wasn't completely disabled. If Damian got into real trouble, Bruce would know.

Incidentally, checking on Damian alerted him to the fact that Tim was no longer in the mansion. _What are you doing halfway across Gotham?_ Bruce messaged.

 _work_

Tim always typed properly except in cases where efficiency took higher priority, such as when he was in Vigilante Mode.

 _Are you Red Robin right now?_

 _u think we all retired just cuz u did?_

 _WHEN DO YOU SLEEP_

 _i dont have time for this; bug off_

Bruce rubbed his face for a while, trying to adjust to the idea that he was puttering around at home like a housewife while most of his children were out saving the city. He couldn't, so he gave up and decided he'd better start paying attention to Duke before that one escaped his grasp, too.

He found the boy in the cave, training, looking determined but also small and lonely. Bruce picked up a couple of escrima sticks. "Think you could tolerate a sparring partner?"

A huge grin broke over Duke's face as he altered his stance. "I _guess_ so, if I have to."

"I'll try not to waste too much of your time," Bruce chuckled.

They had a good workout, and then they and Alfred watched a movie together, and then they all went to bed. _'This is what a normal life is like,'_ Bruce mused. He wasn't sure how he felt about it.

 _TBC_

A/N: I've been setting up Damian's little rebellion, but Duke's hit me out of the blue. X'D


	13. Chapter 7

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 7 (rough draft 2)**

A/N: I have been told that the way I write the seatbelt training in this fic could be potentially triggering for people who have had negative experiences with ABA therapy. I did not base the seatbelt training on any sort of therapy, I only wrote what felt natural. (Ftr, "ABA therapy" is a very broad term. Some versions of ABA are abusive and/or have a misguided end goal, but it is possible to design a _form_ of ABA that's useful and non-harmful.) I do not support abusive versions of ABA and it had no influence on this fic either way (I didn't even know what ABA was when I started writing TBWS), but I guess this is a trigger warning for people who don't want to read about that kind of experience in general.

o.o.o

The next morning, everyone but sleep-deprived Tim and surly Damian seemed to be in a good mood. Bruce held his breath and raised the bar for food-earning again, and was relieved when none of the children protested much. John and Peter now had to ask for specific food items, and Jack was required to enunciate better.

 _"Please give me [~*~*~]."_

Bruce hid a fond smile at the garbled sign. "I didn't understand you; try again. Do you want _eggs_ ," he signed even more slowly this time, " _bacon_ , _cereal_ , or something else?"

 _"...Please give me *bba-con*."_ Bruce could tell now what the boy wanted, but it was one of those signs the Robins had trouble making. He gently guided John's fingers until the child had practiced enough to sign it properly. _"Please give me - bacon!"_

"Good boy. Very good." Bruce set a slice of tofu bacon on the boy's plate and turned to his brother. "What would you like, Peter?"

"Ppo'ttato, plllease," Peter said, pointing urgently at the hash browns.

"Good job. Here are some potatoes. Jack?"

" _Please give me toast_ , tto'te plllease."

"Toassst."

"...Tttohsss. Ttuh."

"Good, but say it again. Ttooasst."

"Ttoh, toh, tttoas-tuh. Ttt. Ttoas't."

"Excellent. Here you go."

After breakfast, when Tim had gone to work and Damian to bed, Bruce sent Duke to study ("You really do need to work on schoolwork, though." "I know, I know, I just meant that I don't want a GED to be my only ambition in life."), then put his hands on his hips and surveyed the little ones. They looked back at him apprehensively. "Is it better to get the unpleasant business out of the way right now, and potentially ruin the rest of your day?" he wondered out loud. "Or is it better to lull you until your defenses are down and _then_ plunge you into misery?"

They fidgeted uneasily.

"I suppose you can decide for yourselves. Boys, which one first: games or seatbelts?"

" _crow_!"

 _"I hate you!"_

"Nno! _Bad man!"_

"Do you want games now and seatbelts later, or seatbelts now and games later?"

"NNO SSSEAT'BBET!"

 _"I don't want it!"_

John's signing was the worst. _"Scared now, hurt now, laugh now-"_ Then he burst into bird language, _"Tie us and hurt us and make us laugh, the blood and the feathers, bad meat in my mouth and dizzy-not-sleeping, it hurts, he's coming, he's coming now...!"_

The other two children tried to flee, but Bruce managed to catch them. He needed a whole arm for Peter; Jack was small enough to tuck under his other arm and still have a hand to spare for the weeping John. He started dragging them all toward the garage, trying to ignore their desperate fangs sinking into him. He'd already been taking the precaution of wearing light armor under his clothes, but their teeth were _very_ sharp and would still leave bruises.

Alfred was drawn by the commotion. Bruce couldn't even hear himself over the children's screams, but his butler could read lips. "Open the back door of the closest car, then lock us in."

For this first, most traumatic session, he didn't even attempt to touch the seatbelts. Once he and the children were inside the car, he let go of them all and let them vent however they needed to as he set a timer on his phone for one minute. He set the device beside him so the boys could see it.

John spent the whole time sobbing his heart out. The other two instantly crammed themselves into corners as far away from Bruce as they could get. When they realized that he wasn't going to try to grab them again, Peter started attacking him; Bruce calmly defended himself, but said nothing and made no attempt to retaliate. Jack prowled around the edges, prying at various seams. When there were only a few seconds left, Jack went still and started watching the countdown.

The timer went off. "All right. We're finished for today; good job. Let's see what Alfred brought for your reward."

The family had made it a point from the start to avoid gratuitously giving the children sugary snacks, but Alfred had correctly surmised that this situation warranted an exception. The boys burst out of the car and, when they had finally calmed down, crouched at the butler's feet with their ice cream bars. John and Jack clutched at Alfred's legs as they ate theirs, John still in tears; Peter crunched his treat so violently that he bit the stick in half and nearly swallowed it before Bruce managed to get it away from him. "Ice cream sandwiches next time, I think," he said wearily, "the miniature kind." Alfred nodded.

The children needed time to recover. John cuddled with Titus on the couch; Peter kept trying to break things until Bruce fetched a practice dummy from the training room for him to assault to his heart's content. Jack slammed letters onto a magnetized alphabet board, matching all 26 sets as if his sanity depended on it. As they got quieter, Bruce started playing a simple ping pong game on the TV. Gradually, first Peter and then Jack and, finally, John crept closer, fascinated. At first they watched in intent silence, but eventually started to react to the scores and near misses. "Maybe you don't hate me anymore, hm?"

Alfred entered the room. "Master Bruce, you have some visitors."

Bruce looked up, and the Robins crowed as the A.I. finally managed to score its first point on him. "Who?"

"I assume I'll need to fetch the hats and sunglasses again."

Bruce gritted his teeth, then quickly set up a new two-person game and handed the controllers to Peter and Jack. The boys didn't seem to know what to do with them, but Bruce didn't have time to teach them how to play, and Jack was already experimentally pressing buttons.

"If I didn't get an alert on my phone..." He checked the gate app, and sure enough, the visitors weren't anyone important enough to have activated an alert. Bethany Tate, Charlotte Meacham, and Maryjane Howard were all air-headed socialites; Kristine Graciano was, essentially, a gossip columnist. Apparently she'd decided to try accessing Wayne Manor by going undercover.

Bruce sighed deeply. "Go ahead and let them in." He was going to have to deal with both parties eventually, he might as well get it over with now. "Let's get the boys covered up before our guests reach the door."

They were settled around the living room when the women entered in a cloud of perfume and girlish tittering. "Bruciiiie!" Charlotte immediately shrieked.

Bruce put on his playboy smile and got up to greet them. "Lottie Meacham! Bethany, M.J.! It's been ages!" After the obligatory air-kissing and pleasantries, Bruce turned to the fourth woman in the group. "And who's your friend?"

"Katie Granston," she introduced herself with a bright smile, putting out a hand to shake. At first glance, she looked like just another one of the group, but to those who knew what to look for, everything from her hairstyle to her shoes indicated that she was out of place among the other genuine rich girls. Bruce was rather surprised the ladies hadn't seen right through her and turned up their noses.

"Oh, _Bruce_ , you naughty boy!" Bethany said gleefully. "Katie swore she was an old friend of yours! We've been _dying_ to ask the details of your old romance!"

There it was. They knew she'd lied, and had been eager to watch Bruce toss her out on her rump.

Instead, he widened his smile. If he didn't give her what she wanted now, she or someone like her would just keep trying until they got in again. "Katie _Granston_ , you say? No! It can't be you - why, you're twice as beautiful as I remember."

"You flatterer," she laughed without missing a beat. "Really, though, it was just a summer fling," she told the other women. "But you did leave an impression, Brucie dear, and I still think of you from time to time. Thought I'd stop by and see how you're doing after everything that's happened."

"Oh, yes, isn't it simply _dreadful_!" the others agreed, also without missing a beat.

"Would you ladies like to sit down?" Bruce courteously showed them to seats as Alfred began serving snacks and drinks. The boys had taken refuge behind Bruce's chair, and were peering cautiously out at the strangers. Titus had planted himself in front of them and was watching the adults alertly.

"Oh, Bruce, weren't you _lucky_ , escaping all that damage! Daddy's so upset at how much work there still is to be done on our mansion here; Mama and Darla and I have had to go live in our New York suite, can you imagine! It is such an inconvenience, yet here you are, cozy in your own home!"

"I actually had to get a lot of repairwork done myself. They only recently finished."

"Oh, my, you can't even tell!"

"I wish _I_ could stay as close as New York," Maryjane put in. "I flew all the way from Milan to come see how all our friends in Gotham have fared!"

"I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Maryjane."

"How can you stand it, Bruce?! Your home is beautiful as always, but the city is in such a _disgraceful_ state! It's like the Middle Ages!"

Bruce was a little distracted by John and Jack, who had started stealthily creeping behind the furniture to get closer to the women's silky skirts and shiny shoes.

"Father says we might not even come back to Gotham at all."

"I _wish_ Daddy wouldn't bother rebuilding here. Things were dreadful enough already, and now they say that Batman's haunting the streets again."

Bruce's thoughts stuttered.

"I mean, really! After he nearly destroyed the world, he has the nerve to show his face again? Gotham doesn't need him! Grandmother says the city was a civilized place back when she was a girl, it didn't get hellish until _he_ came on the scene."

"I- I'm sorry; they say Batman's back?" Bruce asked, trying to keep his tone casual. "You mean the actual man in the cape and cowl, or just some amateur in a ski mask and black coat?"

No one got the chance to answer, because Maryjane leaped out of her chair with a scream. Her pretty shoe was left behind in John's hands; delighted, he held it up to the light and cooed at it, pulling off his sunglasses to see better.

"Dear God!"

"These are my new foster children," Bruce said, getting up to rescue Maryjane's shoe and get John's glasses back on before Kristine could sneak any pictures of his domino-scarred face. "This is John, that's Jack, and Peter's over there with the dog. Johnny, give Miss Maryjane back her shoe, and I'll give you the light-up Koosh ball to play with instead."

Charlotte twitched her skirt away from Jack's reaching hands in alarm and hastily got up to join her friend. "Oh, my! Oh, my, Bruce, what dear little children!" she exclaimed, looking at the boys like they were rats.

Since the kids took no notice of the shrieking and dirty looks, Bruce didn't care about that. What he did care about was the plate of cake Kristine was lowering to the floor. "Oh, no, don't give them-"

Too late. John and Jack already had icing all over their hands and mouths; Peter was hissing and muttering "Nno no no no no no no" behind Bruce's chair.

Bruce glanced at Alfred, not having to say a word. _'They'll have to skip dessert tonight,'_ he thought, and Alfred nodded in silent agreement.

"How adorable!" Kristine was exclaiming, a little too eagerly. "Do tell me more about your new little ones, Brucie."

"Well, _Katie_ , what do you want to know?"

She paused, probably wondering if he'd guessed she was using an alias.

"You always take in so many children, Bruce!" Bethany laughed. "You ought to get married soon, then you can have proper children of your own."

"'Proper' children, huh."

Charlotte, who was closest to Peter, started to reach for the boy in an obligatory sort of way. Titus growled softly. (Or maybe it was Peter who growled, it was hard to tell.)

"You might not want to do that, Lottie. Titus thinks they're his puppies and can get a little overprotective," Bruce exaggerated, wanting to keep careless hands away from his skittish sons.

"Oh my goodness, he's not going to bite me, is he?!"

 _'The dog, or the boy?'_ "I'm sure he'll be fine if you just give him some space."

"Hello, cutie," Kristine cooed, caressing John. He didn't like the way her fingers lingered over the scarred bridge of his nose and the bandage on his temple, and he pushed her away uncomfortably.

 _"She wants to eat me,"_ he signed, forcing Bruce to stifle a snort of laughter.

Maryjane was not to be outdone by a commoner. " _Hello_ , little one!" she said, reaching to pinch Jack's cheeks and manhandle his face. "You're so _cute_!"

He sank his teeth into her finger.

"AAAAAHHHHH!" There was pandemonium as all three women screamed. Bruce rushed to soothe them, Alfred glided up with a first aid kit, Kristine hid a smile, John covered his ears, and Jack licked the blood from his lips. "HE BIT ME! HEAVEN HELP ME! HE _BIT_ ME, I'M BLEEDING, OH...OH...!"

Duke came into the room a minute later. "What's going on? Are the birds eating someone?"

"Oh, Bruce, why are there so many CHILDREN here?!"

"You dear man, you're running a veritable _orphanage_ in this house, my God...!"

After Bruce had made a show of scolding the children (who just stared blankly back at him), sweet-talked the ladies until their feathers were less ruffled, bribed them with more of Alfred's goodies to forgive him, promised non-specific lunch dates that would likely never happen, and walked them to the door (they couldn't help bursting into animated gossip before even reaching their car), he went back to the living room, where the fourth visitor was trying to coax the boys closer with a cookie (they seemed to have wised up and were hesitant to approach).

"Well, Ms. Graciano, shall we get down to business?"

She paused, then straightened and smiled. "Looks like you're not as big a flake as people say you are, Mr. Wayne."

He shrugged. "Your name is on a lot of articles written about my family. I looked you up a long time ago." He held out his hand. "I'll give you a short interview and a couple of photos, but first I'll need to erase whatever you've collected on my boys so far."

She huffed and protested, but eventually handed over her phone, which he cleaned of the recordings she'd been making and then handed back. When he sat down, John crawled into his lap to be cuddled. Peter climbed up to perch on the back of his chair, and Jack made himself comfortable in Duke's lap.

"All right, well, first off: there are rumors that you've taken in the Robins involved in the last Arkham incident, and I see now that they're true. What's the story behind that?"

"I'd been providing support to the Justice League during the apocalypse, so I was in the region where the final battle went down. Three of the children were still alive after their captor's death, and I was deemed the best-equipped to care for them, so I brought them home with me."

"Their 'captor,'" she pounced. "One of the evil Batmen?"

"One of the threats from the dark multiverse, yes. Although they took advantage of certain imagery and branding, they are completely unaffiliated with the true Batman and his associates."

"Speaking of Batman, we hear that he's apparently active again. What can you tell us about that?"

John must have sensed his increased heart rate. _"You are scared?"_

Bruce gently squeezed the boy's hands to quiet him. "Although I sponsor Batman, Incorporated, I'm not its director. As far as I know, the idea of Batman resuming his work in Gotham City is an unfounded rumor."

"All right, well, getting back to the children, you said that not all of them survived, and there were four in the reports of the Arkham attack. Where is the other boy?"

"I don't know," Bruce lied. "The fourth child didn't make it, but I don't know what was done with the body."

"Do you at least know who he was? What about these children, are they going to be reunited with their families?"

"The children are not from this Earth, and the world they originated in no longer exists. We have determined that the boys' counterparts here have no families to return them to."

"Who _are_ their counterparts?"

"That is confidential information, though I will say that their counterparts are significantly older and have self-sufficient lives of their own. My lawyers have been working to get the children established as legally existing persons."

"Are you planning to adopt them, Mr. Wayne?"

"...Yes."

"Oooh, you certainly love children, don't you! But you say their counterparts are adults? What if _they_ want to adopt them?"

"That option is on the table. I have been in contact with the counterparts, and we are working together to resolve the children's legal status."

"Can't you give me anything more solid than that?"

"Not at this time, I'm afraid."

"All right, well, maybe I can get a quote from the children themselves!"

"I don't think-"

Kristine turned to Jack, who was closest. "Hello, sweetheart! How do you like living with Mr. Wayne?"

Jack, who had been learning how to play Tic Tac Toe from Duke, did not like being interrupted. _"I want to bite her."_

 _"Do not bite,"_ Bruce signed back sternly.

"Ooohh, is that sign language?"

"Yes. They all have speech impairments, so we've been teaching them communication skills."

"My goodness, special needs on top of everything else! Is there a reason they're all bundled up?"

"Until their situation is more stable, I'm trying to protect them from unfair judgment by the press and the general public," Bruce said pointedly.

"I see. Are these boys more difficult to look after than the other children you've taken in?"

"They're a handful, but we've managed just fine so far."

"Do you think this will put a damper on your lifestyle?"

"I've... They've kept me busy, yes, but maybe it's time I started settling down more, anyway."

"You're a rather atypical parent, Mr. Wayne. Why is it that you adopt and foster so many children?"

He was so tired of that question, but at least he had learned the best way to answer it by now. "Well, you know what happened to my parents when I was a boy, Ms. Graciano. Their loss hit me deeply, and I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone. The goal of making sure every child in Gotham has a good home has always been important to me, and with my resources, it would be selfish of me to close off my own home. Of course no one person can foster every displaced child in the city, but...I don't know how to explain it to someone who hasn't experienced herself, but with certain people, it just 'clicks.' It's like fate always meant for you to be a family, and all you had to do was find each other."

"How lovely. The children seem to feel the same." She gestured toward John, who was grooming Bruce's hair. "It's funny that _these_ particular children would have such an impression on you, though. They did a lot of harm at Arkham - are you afraid they might turn violent again?"

"We're keeping an eye on them, but they haven't had any relapses."

"Do you have any words for the surviving victims and their families?"

"I am deeply sorry for the pain they've been going through. I've already reached out financially to those affected, and just as my thoughts and prayers are with them, I hope they can find it in their hearts to forgive these children who were themselves terribly victimized."

"So it's true that they were operating under the effects of Joker toxin?"

"Yes, they suffered long-term exposure to the toxin, though since their rescue, their condition has improved significantly."

"Were they abused in other ways?"

"That information is confidential."

"I can see scars on them."

"They were held captive, and were conditioned enough to participate in the Arkham attack. Obviously they were mistreated, but the specifics are confidential and they are entitled to privacy as we do our best to help them recover."

 _"She makes you angry,"_ John observed. _"We will kill her, you will be happy and feed us."_

 _"NO. Do not hurt people. I will always feed you, whether I'm happy or angry. I do not kill, my family does not kill, you do not kill."_

"What are you saying to each other?"

"Seems like the kids are getting hungry," Bruce said, nudging John aside and standing up. "Alfred, can you get them some lunch? Ms. Graciano, I'll walk you out."

"Lunch, lunch, lunch!" the children cheered in all three of their languages, flocking eagerly around Alfred.

"Oh, wait, I'm not finished yet!" Kristine protested. She swung around to Duke. "Duke Thomas, right? How do you like living with Mr. Wayne?"

"Uh...I like it fine. Alfred's food is great."

"What do you think of your new foster brothers?" she persisted as Bruce herded her out of the room.

"They're good kids. I'm gonna go eat now, okay?" He ambled off toward the kitchen.

"Wait, Mr. Wayne, please, can't I just take some quick candid shots, I won't keep them from eating-"

"I told you I would provide photos." Bruce and Alfred had both been taking copious pictures of the Robins, both as mementos and for documentation. It wasn't difficult to find a couple that were safe to publish, and after Bruce had sent them to Kristine's phone, he kindly but firmly shut the door on her. Then he went to go join his children for lunch.

 _TBC_

A/N: Regarding seatbelt training again, I asked my youngest sister, who's working on a Master's degree in psychology. She said that I got the basic idea right, but that it would have been better for Bruce to go at an even slower pace than what I wrote, and that he should have taught the kids physical relaxation and then visualization techniques beforehand, only moving forward when they were ready. I'm improving it as best I can in these edits, and for the stuff I can't fix, I'm chalking it up to Bruce not being perfect (and having reasons to delay hiring a therapist).


	14. Chapter 8

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 8 (rough draft 2)**

As soon as lunch was over, Bruce got the Robins set up with some games and books, then sat down nearby and called Jim Gordon.

 _"Bruce?"_

"Jim! How've you been, my friend?"

 _"Still pretty busy, as you can imagine."_

"I can certainly imagine that! So, I'm calling because I heard that Batman's been spotted around town. I haven't heard from him myself in a while, so I thought I'd ask to see what you know."

Jim muttered something that sounded like 'I knew it,' then raised his voice back to a normal level. _"The Batman_ _I_ _know is still lying low, but we've been getting deliveries from_ _a_ _Batman - or rather, Batboy. He dresses like the Dark Knight, but the kid can't be more than twelve or thirteen years old."_

Bruce shut his eyes and tried not to sigh audibly.

 _"I bet it's the same kid who was running around impersonating Batman a few years ago,"_ Jim said pointedly, as if Bruce hadn't already gotten the message. _"Gets the job done, but he's arrogant as heck; my men are constantly complaining about him. I don't like the fact that a kid's fighting criminals by himself, either."_

"Hmmm, I'll see if I can get a message to Batman about it. Thanks, Jim."

 _"Anytime, Bruce."_

Bruce hung up, called in Alfred to keep an eye on the boys, then went to have a talk with his son.

Damian and the other Alfred were both still fast asleep. Bruce shoved aside the curtains, prompting boy and cat to stir and grumble irritably as midday sunshine came spilling across the bed.

"Damian, get up. You've got schoolwork, and I need to talk to you."

"I'm tired, Father," Damian mumbled, hiding his face in Alfred's fur.

"I'm sure you are, after running around all night in the cowl, but you have other responsibilities, Damian Wayne."

The boy peered up at him warily. "...Are you angry?"

"I'm not happy. Sit up, _now_."

Damian obeyed hurriedly. Alfred, apparently deciding it was time to make himself scarce, dropped off the bed with a light thump and trotted out of the room.

"Damian, I know you're probably bored now that you can't go out with me as Robin anymore, but taking on Gotham all by yourself is not an option."

"I've been doing it for a week now! I can handle it, Father!"

"I don't care how capable you are, you're _thirteen_ , Damian."

"Drake was barely fourteen when he took on the Joker all by himself and won. You don't supervise me when I'm fighting with the Titans."

"That was an emergency situation, and the Teen Titans are a _team_ , with multiple people watching each other's back. The point is, being a vigilante in Gotham is incredibly dangerous, and it doesn't matter how skilled you are, your age is a factor. I've already let far too many children die or get seriously injured on my watch. If you're going to fight, you need to do it with an experienced adult partner or with your teammates, and the fact is that I am unable to be that partner for you right now." He exhaled unhappily. "If you're not ready to return to the Teen Titans yet, maybe I can send you to Blüdhaven to work with Dick."

"No!"

"...You love Dick."

"I am rather fond of Richard," Damian said stiffly, "but my place is here."

 _'Still afraid to stray too far from my side, that he'll lose me again.'_ Bruce felt the same - he hated that so many of his children seemed scattered to the winds, but he wanted what was best for them.

Damian's frown deepened and turned bitter. "At least, I thought it was. But I'm beginning to feel like there is no place for me in this house anymore."

"Oh, Damian, no-" Bruce put his arms around him without even thinking. Then he felt awkward, but Damian was clinging to him now, so he relaxed and squeezed a little tighter. "I'm so sorry, Damian. I know the little ones have been taking up a lot of my time and attention, but I don't love you or Duke any less than I did before. I'm sorry for neglecting you."

"This isn't the first time. I'm used to it."

Bruce felt even more like a terrible father. Though he hadn't _wanted_ to get flung back through time or have Batman erased from his memory, that didn't make any difference to his son's suffering. At least in the early days, Dick had still been around to look after his little brother, but when Bruce lost his memories, Damian had been left to fend for himself. The boy was perfectly capable of procuring food and shelter, but he must have felt incredibly lonely and abandoned.

"Damian - listen, from now on, you and Duke each get one night a week to have me all to yourself. I'll try to spend more time with you than that, but your assigned night will be guaranteed. Whether it's vigilantism or going out to eat or watch a movie or visit an arcade or the Watchtower, whatever you want - within reason, - we can do it together on your night. How does that sound?"

"It sounds...adequate. _If_ you keep your word, that is."

"I will."

"And I still want to be Batman. Gotham needs a Batman, _someone_ needs to fill your shoes!"

"...You can keep Batman for now. _For now_. I reserve the right to take back the cowl at any time in the future if I feel so inclined."

"That is fair." Damian lifted his chin. "But I must tell you, Father, I cannot accept being grounded from the rooftops for six nights of the week. Get Richard to return to Gotham, and I will serve as his partner."

"I can't do that, unless Dick wants to come back himself... Let me check with Cassandra, though. She's probably sleeping right now, but I'll call her tonight and see what she says. Will you accept her as a partner if she agrees?"

"I suppose I'll have to," Damian said loftily, though his expression lit up at the suggestion of getting to work with one of his idols.

"Good. Now get up, get something to eat, and then go study. You've been falling behind."

"I'd earned the equivalent of five college degrees by the time I was-"

" _Go study_ , Damian."

The rest of the day passed quietly until late afternoon, when the children were playing outside. A notification caused Bruce's phone to briefly vibrate and purr. He glanced at the screen for confirmation, smiled, then resumed watching the boys. A few minutes later, he heard a murmured "Thank you, Alfred" and a light smack when the visitor kissed Alfred's cheek, but Bruce didn't hear so much as a whisper of her approach before she was perching on the edge of his chair, laying an arm across his shoulders, and nuzzling his ear. "Hello, Selina," he said.

"I wanted to see your new kittens."

Jack came trotting up with a fistful of wildflowers. He tucked most of them into Bruce's hair and the rest into Selina's.

"Jack, this is Selina. Se-li-na. Say hello."

"Hhello, Ssse-lli-nna." He trotted away again.

"Agh," Bruce realized too late, "I keep forgetting to teach them to address adults politely..."

"I think your other one is about to throw lemonade at me."

Bruce whirled. " _Peter_."

The boy froze, crouched on the table with the pitcher still uplifted.

"DO NOT THROW THAT. And get off the table."

Peter looked calculating. "Bbeee," he finally claimed, now holding out the pitcher in offering. "Hhhunnngg... ... Bbeee wwwann-tuh sssweee-tuh." He pointed to the bee that had started circling, attracted by the sugary liquid the boy had spilled.

"The lemonade is for us, not the bees." Bruce walked over, took the pitcher away, taught Peter how to pronounce 'hungry' correctly, then got him off the table and out of the way so Alfred could wipe up the spilled lemonade. When he looked up, Selina was perched on the low patio wall, cooing at what must have been John hiding in the bushes below. He hoped she hadn't purposely posed like that with the kids around - the sight of her unnecessarily raised rump made him uncomfortable when he was standing next to an eight-year-old child.

 _"Butt,"_ Peter signed, pointing.

"Selina," Bruce said in a pained tone.

Selina, subconsciously aware of her favorite male behind her and with a body that was schooled in posing provocatively, hadn't even realized what she was doing. She snapped upright as an embarrassed blush seeped across her cheeks. "Oh! I'm not...used to being around kids, I forgot-"

John chose that moment to pop up, almost right in her face, and yell, "OO!"

"Meow!" She jerked back exactly like a startled cat, then straightened up and smoothed her hair.

"Did you just...meow?"

"No, I did not!"

"You _meowed_ when he startled you."

"I did n-!" She gave up and pounced around to grab John, simultaneously hugging him and dragging him over the wall to join her on the patio. "Oh, you _naughty_ little boy, you think it's _funny_ to scare respectable ladies, do you? Bruce never taught you any manners?"

Since she hadn't pinned his arms when she'd wrapped her own around his chest, he seemed delighted by the cuddling, and giggled madly as she playfully covered him with snarly, gobbly kisses. Peter ran over to her. "Ooohh, you want some of this, too~?" she purred. She spared an arm to drag Peter up against her and made more beast-devouring-prey noises as she kissed him.

 _"She eat us, she not eat us, cat woman!"_

"They've got you pegged, Selina."

Jack trotted back to the terrace, pulled on Bruce until he bent down, then tucked flowers into the little gaps between his shirt buttons. "Pprrrre-tty. Bboos pprrre-tty." He brought the rest over to Alfred. _"Down, please._ Gggam'ppa pprrre-tty, tttoo." The birds had, of their own volition, started addressing the butler as their grandfather in both speech and sign language. Alfred never objected.

"Why, thank you, Master Jack."

Selina stayed for dinner, taking a turn feeding the children so that Bruce could have a few unbroken minutes to feed himself. Right afterward, as Selina was accompanying the rest of the family into the living room, Bruce snagged Damian and kept an arm around his shoulders while he called his daughter. She had returned to Gotham soon after the rest of the family and stayed in touch with Bruce, but she had preferred to spend her time, both day and night, out in the thick of the disaster zones. "Cass?"

She made a friendly grunt in greeting.

"Is there any chance you've come across 'Batman' while you were on patrol the past few nights?"

 _"Damian."_

"Yes, well. He needs a partner, and I...need to stay home for the time being. Do you think you could team up with Damian while I'm not available?"

 _"Yes."_

"Good. Thank you." He felt Damian relax.

 _"Bruce?"_

"Yes?"

 _"Children?"_

"You're welcome to come meet them anytime you like, Cassandra."

 _"Busy. Someday. Video, picture, more."_

"I'll send you some new ones when I get a chance."

 _"Yes."_

"How far away are you from the cave?"

 _"Come soon."_

"All right. We'll be waiting." Damian, accompanied by his father, went down to the Batcave to suit up and wait for Cassandra's arrival.

Upstairs, John carefully picked up Alfred with both arms in an awkward but secure hold, then carried the animal over to Selina and placed him in her lap. Alfred immediately went to work grooming his ruffled fur back into place. _"Cat. Pet gentle,"_ John directed.

"Oh~ what a beautiful creature." Selina kissed John in thanks and then caressed Alfred, who melted under her touch. The cat was soon sprawled on his side with his fluffy underbelly exposed. "No, kitten," Selina murmured, gently intercepting John's reaching hands. "He's not a dog, he won't like that. You can keep petting his head and back where he feels safe."

"Ssssff."

Meanwhile, Duke was trying to teach the other boys how to play Sevens. "Okay, so I'm going to split the cards between the three of us...one for Jack, one for Peter, one for me. One for Jack, one for Peter... Jack, Peter, me, Jack, Peter, me... Hold on, buddy, almost done... Okay. Whoa, hold on, okay, so let's see, Peter, you've got a seven, so put it here like this. No, leave it there. Now, Jack, do you have a six or an eight of diamonds, or any other seven...?"

The boys seemed frustrated at first, but after a while, something in Jack's mind seemed to click. He rapidly started slapping down cards, twittering as he went, grabbing cards out of both Peter's and Duke's hands until he'd created a full set (except for the face cards, which he tossed away). Both he and Peter crowed triumphantly.

"Want to try again?" Duke gathered up the pip cards and shuffled them as the children watched avidly. Then he handed them back, and now both boys worked to create four orderly and correct rows of cards. Duke wasn't sure that Jack had a solid grasp of numerals yet, and he knew for sure that Peter didn't, but they must have been going by the number of pips on each card. "Wow. You guys are smart," he remarked. "Look, the people are part of the set, too." He added the Jacks, Queens, and Kings.

" _crow_ ~!" Peter clapped his hands in approval.

 _"Photograph,"_ Jack demanded. When he saw that the older boy didn't know the sign, he imitated the noise of a camera shutter clicking and tried to dig Duke's phone out of his pocket.

"Whoa there, little buddy, let's keep our hands to ourselves. You want me to take a picture? _I'll_ do it. My phone, not yours."

 _"Photograph!"_

Duke gamely snapped a picture. "There. I'll print it out for you later."

"Ggoo-duh jjobb, Jja'ckk," Jack said in satisfaction.

Later that evening, Selina volunteered to help Bruce get the children ready for bed, which would free up Alfred to get some other work done. John and Peter didn't seem to mind being naked in a woman's presence, but Jack refused to take off his pants in front of Selina. "How about you take a shower instead," Bruce suggested, showing him the shower stall. Its door was transparent, but he could clip some towels over it to give the boy privacy. "Selina," he called over his shoulder, "John and Peter can pretty much bathe themselves now, so your job is to keep them on task. Don't let them play too much until they've finished washing."

"You hear that, kiddos? Daddy Bruce has spoken."

Bruce rolled his eyes as he started setting up towels.

The boys got an extra story that night, and they actually let Selina lounge across their bed as she read a version of "Puss in Boots" to them. When she kissed them good night, John meowed at her.

"Ooooohhh, kitten, don't do that, I might steal you away and take you home with me..."

Bruce and Selina turned out the lights and left the room. Then they just stood out in the hall for a while, watching the Bat Baby Monitor together.

"...They're precious," Selina finally said.

"You're good with them."

"I miss my baby...I miss her so much..."

They watched a little longer. After a while, Bruce rested an arm around her waist. She turned toward him and kissed him hard. They made out for a few minutes and then just stood there with their arms around each other. "Mmmnn," Selina whined after a while. Between caring for the children, missing Helena more strongly than usual as a result, watching Bruce care for the children, and feeling his perfect body now pressed against hers, her ovaries were getting the wrong idea. The urge to make this man impregnate her was getting increasingly harder to resist. "I need to get away from you and all your baby birds, Bat," she murmured regretfully.

"Come back any time you like," he murmured back.

She pressed one last kiss against the skin just below his ear, then stepped back and vanished down the hall as silently as a cat.

 _TBC_


	15. Chapter 9, Part 1

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 9.1 (rough draft 2)**

The next morning, as Bruce was combing Peter's hair, he paused. He put the comb down so he could part the boy's hair for a better look.

Close to the scalp, the roots of Peter's hair were ginger. Bruce smiled in relief that the boy's natural hair color was starting to grow in on its own. _'I wonder if he'll keep it like that, or start dyeing it someday like Jason does.'_ When he finished with Peter, he checked the other two boys. It was harder to tell with them, since Dick and Tim both had black hair, and he hoped it wasn't just wishful thinking that made their roots look darker than the rest. "We'll see in a few weeks, I suppose..."

After breakfast, the children trustingly trotted after Bruce as usual, which made him feel guilty when he came to a stop in the hall and turned to face them. Perhaps they read something in his face or body language, because the older two boys suddenly looked wary, and Jack went stiff and clenched his fists as if he'd guessed what was coming. "All right, boys."

They stared at him.

"Games first and seatbelts later, or seatbelts fir-?"

This time, it was Peter and John who fled. Bruce caught them, dragged them back to where Jack was standing, and managed to free a hand for their youngest brother. Jack didn't fight, but he complained and dragged his heels as Bruce grimly hauled them all to the garage.

In the car, Jack signed vigorously, _"I don't like it, I am angry, I don't like it!"_ before settling down to watch the timer. Peter attacked the car as if trying to break his way out; John attacked Bruce. "Wwwhhhhyyyy?!" he screamed.

"You have to learn to be safe, John. I will not hurt you. No one will hurt you."

John collapsed, sounding like he was trying to cry but was too upset to get the sobs out. Then he crawled into Bruce's lap, alternating between burying himself in a hug, hitting Bruce, and trying to pull off his own clothes.

"Stop. It will be all right, you're safe, Johnny. Please believe me, you don't have to be scared. You're safe."

 _"I hate you!"_

When Bruce let them out at the end of the 60 seconds, the younger boys calmed down soon after receiving their rewards, but John was crying so hard with fear and rage that he could barely eat his. After a few nibbles, he hurled the rest away. His brothers chased after it; Bruce couldn't stop them because he was too alarmed by the sound of John's furious sobs turning to coughs. Alfred managed to dump out the ice packs and get the cooler in place just in time for John to vomit up the ice cream he'd just eaten into it.

"My God, John...!" More worried than ever, Bruce grabbed the napkin Alfred handed him and wiped the boy's mouth. "Johnny! There's nothing to be so afraid of!"

John had gone quiet and distant. It wasn't quite like one of his dissociative episodes; he still seemed aware of his surroundings, but had emotionally withdrawn. Bruce tried to coax him to his feet, then picked him up when it became clear the boy was not going to move on his own. John resisted and hummed in displeasure, but didn't fight.

 _'Maybe I'll skip tomorrow...they_ _have_ _to learn, but I can't push him so hard he makes himself sick...'_ With the younger boys cautiously trailing after, he got John cleaned up in the nearest bathroom and then went to the living room to lay him down on a couch. Peter and Jack were still keeping their distance and watching him closely. "Boys, it's all right. You can play now. Or I can put something on for you to watch, or listen to. Do you want music?"

Neither of them answered, but he found that if he turned away and pretended he wasn't paying attention to them, they relaxed a bit. Jack played with his phone (the outdated model he'd found with no service but plenty of surviving features to keep him occupied), and Peter collected some toys to play with next to him.

John was so engulfed in the fluffy blanket he'd been covered with that it took a while for Bruce to realize he was no longer tucked under it. The boy must have slipped away while Bruce was distracted by a WE call. When Bruce went to check on John again and found nothing under the blanket, he panicked a little. "John! JOHN, where are you?!"

John's discarded shirt was on the floor outside the living room. Bruce stared at it. He looked up and saw another garment lying in a heap on the floor down the hall, and he followed the trail of clothing back to the garage. Titus was lying watchfully in front of the crate that had been bought for him on his adoption day but rarely used.

John was curled up inside. Bruce stared at the scarred, naked boy in the cage and felt sick, especially when John saw him, hooked his fingers through the crate's grated door, and desperately pulled it shut. "...John."

" _crow_ "

Bruce got down on the floor to make himself smaller and hopefully less threatening. "Johnny. Please come out of there."

John stared back at him, making no response. He couldn't latch the little door, but his knuckles were pale with tension as he held it closed.

"John- ...Dick. You do not belong in there."

" _crow_ "

"Please talk to me. Please use human words."

"..."

Bruce pushed the reluctant Titus aside and reached for the cage door, prompting John to shriek and scramble to the back of the crate. Bruce paused. Dragging the boy out by force would traumatize him even more than he already was. The cage couldn't be disassembled, and there was no way to cut it open without risking injury to John.

So he backed away and stood up. He went to get some toys and some treats, which, to protect from the dog, he put into closed containers where John could see what he was doing. He placed them all at strategic distances from the cage. John eyed them longingly, but made no move to come after them. After Bruce had waited for a while in vain, he fetched the Robin monitor and left one unit in the garage, keeping hold of the other one like it was a lifeline.

In the living room, Peter and Jack were playing as usual, but when he came in, they hastily retreated to hide behind the furniture.

 _'I'm not a monster,'_ Bruce wanted to say, but he couldn't, because to these children, it wasn't true. The boys watched him as he sat down in an easy chair and pretended to read a newspaper.

It took half an hour for John to finally venture out of the cage toward the closest bait. Bruce rose to his feet like a hunter, eyes glued to the monitor. He walked out of the living room as casually as he could so as not to alarm the younger boys, rushed the rest of the way to the closest door that led outside the house, and sprinted around to the garage. As soon as he reached an entrance, he went back into stealth mode, approaching from a different direction than the door that was usually used to access the garage from the house.

His target was the empty dog crate - he needed to get to it before the child tried to escape into it again. Only once he had grabbed it and pushed it up onto a shelf did he turn to face John.

The frightened boy was staring at him, clinging to Titus. When Bruce approached, John hid his face in the dog's fur and burst into tears. Titus craned his head around to try to lick them away.

Bruce kept his distance as he circled around toward the main door to the house. "Titus," he called. "Titus, come."

The dog obeyed, and as Bruce had hoped, John kept his hold on the Great Dane and was pulled along as Titus walked.

"Good boy. Come. Come."

He'd managed to coax them halfway down the hall before a worried-looking Alfred appeared, holding a bundle of clothes and the blanket John had abandoned. Bruce took the blanket, captured John in it, and lifted the sniffling, weary, resigned boy up into his arms again. "Give Titus a treat, he earned it," Bruce told Alfred, "then help me get John dressed."

John miserably submitted to being clothed and then carried back to the living room. Bruce sat down and kept the boy cradled in one arm while he pulled out his phone.

 _"Mmn...'sup...?"_

"I'm sorry to wake you, Dick, but I need you to sing."

 _"Aww. Johnnybird, what happened?"_

John freed his hands from the blanket so he could sign at Dick, _"Save me."_

 _"Poor baby. Is the big mean bat giving you a hard time?"_

"Dick, please. They hate me right now, and I just had to get John out of a dog crate, because apparently he'd rather shut himself in a cage than come anywhere near me."

Dick was silent for a long moment. Then he began to sing a Romani lullaby that he'd learned from his father when he had been younger than John. John closed his eyes as fresh tears started to slip down his cheeks, but he relaxed a little. Peter and Jack climbed up to perch on the back of the chair to listen ( _'Behind me, where I can't easily reach them,'_ Bruce noted dismally).

Dick reached the end, then hummed a second round. John didn't fall asleep (Jack did, after climbing back to the ground), but he lay quietly against Bruce's chest. Peter blinked slowly and occasionally dug his fingernails into his own arm to stop himself from nodding off.

The song died away. After a moment, Dick said softly, _"I love you, baby bird. Bruce loves you, too."_

John gazed at the screen through half-lidded eyes.

 _"No more cages, okay? Just make puppy eyes at Bruce, and then he'll do anything you want."_

Bruce repressed a sigh.

 _"Bruce? You okay?"_

"...No." He barely held back from adding, _Please come home._

 _"They do love you, Bruce, even when they're scared and hurt and angry. ..._ _I_ _love you even when I'm scared and hurt and angry."_

"Thank you."

 _"Come on~ Bruce, that is not the correct response."_

"*sigh* I love you, too, Dick."

 _"Whoa! You actually said it?!"_

"I am upset and vulnerable right now, so yes, I said it."

 _"Huh, maybe I should have gone crawling into dog crates when I was a kid."_

"Dick, _please_."

 _"All right, all right. I'm gonna go back to sleep now, okay? Love you all lots."_

Bruce hung up and started a Pixar movie, which Jack woke up to watch. John, despite his obvious exhaustion and lethargy, fought to stay awake and didn't actually drop off until the tail end the movie. Only then did Bruce dare to set him down, even though he knew it was unreasonable to think that the boy would vanish again the minute Bruce took eyes off him.

Once the credits started rolling, he turned off the TV and decided to give some lessons a try. Without John's anxiety to set them on edge, the younger boys were warming up to Bruce again, and they let him close enough to explain what their new tasks were.

About 45 minutes later, Peter was struggling to name letters as he matched them to an alphabet puzzle, and Jack was working hard to trace over the words Bruce had printed for him in highlighter. That was when John woke up wailing and thrashing, looking wildly around the room. His frightened eyes caught on Bruce for a moment. He threw off the blanket to look down at himself, then just kept staring, as if he couldn't believe that he was still in the same condition he had been in when he'd fallen asleep.

"Hello, Johnny," Bruce said, trying to keep his voice quiet and calm. "I hope you had a good nap. We're going to eat lunch soon."

Peter and Jack climbed up onto the couch to join their brother. John twittered at them anxiously, and they responded in more bird language. John slid off the couch and rushed over to Bruce, signing _"What?! Why? What?"_

"I'm sorry, John, I don't understand what you're asking."

 _"You're angry?!"_

"No, not at all."

 _"...Bad place. Kill me."_

"What?!"

"Ssseat'bbett," Jack translated. "[ _chirp-chirp_ ] ssay nno."

"We will take a break tomorrow. No seatbelts tomorrow, but-"

"NNO SSSEAT-TUHBBE-TUH," Peter declared.

"No seatbelts tomorrow," Bruce agreed.

The boys stared at him suspiciously.

"But the day after that, we will practice with the seatbelts again."

"Nno! _I don't like it!"_

"I'm sorry to hear that. We will take a break tomorrow, and then try again the next day."

At lunch, instead of asking for any food, John folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them. Bruce let him skip a couple of turns, but then called his name and, when there was no response, prodded the boy until he reluctantly looked up. "Are you hungry or not hungry, John?"

 _"...I don't want it."_

"Do you feel sick?"

 _"You hate me."_

"No. Johnny, I do not hate you. I care about you very much."

 _"Me now, me now,"_ Peter started to sign impatiently, and Duke took over the feeding process so that Bruce could keep talking to John.

 _"I'm sad."_

"I'm sorry, John. Seeing you sad makes me sad. I can't delay the seatbelt practice forever, but what else can I do that will make you happy again?"

"M...Mmmamma...Ppa'pà... _Give me."_

Bruce rested his face in his hands and didn't look up until he had finally composed himself. "John...I would give them back to you if I could, but...they're gone now. I'm so sorry. I can't bring them back. My Dick's parents are gone, too."

John watched him thoughtfully. _"You're sad."_

"Yes. ...John, I can't give your parents back, but what I'm trying to give you is a safe home and a better life. I will not let anyone hurt you the way that other man hurt you."

"Hmmmm." They gazed at each other for a while longer. "Bbbooss."

It was the first time John had used his name. "Yes?"

 _"Pet cat gentle; pet me gentle."_

"I'm trying, John."

 _"Please give me pizza._ Pppeesss."

"Here you go, Johnny," Bruce said in relief, cutting a generous chunk to put on the boy's plate. "Good asking."

 _TBC_

A/N: It took me the longest time to figure out that it's just a flat-out continuity issue that Dick's dad is the Romani parent in _Grayson_ , but it's his mom in Rebirth. I don't have any objections to the latter, but I prefer the _Grayson_ version for some reason, I'm not even sure why.


	16. Chapter 9, Part 2

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 9.2 (rough draft 2)**

John's spirits seemed to have revived by the end of lunch, especially when he and his brothers got to play outside afterward. Duke came out to join them about an hour before dinner.

Bruce had promised to give his older boys his undivided attention once a week, but he wanted to give them more than that whenever possible. Since he would be running rooftops with Damian that night and had been working with the Robins all day, it seemed fair - or, at least, fair _er_ \- that Duke should have the pre-dinner hour. "You up for some sparring?"

"Who's going to watch the kids?"

"I'll call Alfred."

"He's probably about to start cooking."

"I'll tell him to just warm up some leftovers later. Unless you'd rather not...?"

"No, no, leftovers are cool," Duke said quickly.

Of _course_ it couldn't be that simple. Alfred came out with bundles of sparring gear for Bruce and Duke to change into, then sat on the terrace to keep an eye on the children, who continued to play on the lawn just past the steps. Bruce thought nothing of moving a safe distance away, taking up a stance, and facing down his latest protégé.

Fists and feet started flying. Duke had done a good job improving his existing repertoire during self-training, and Bruce intended to teach him a couple of new moves this session. Just a few more tests to make first...Duke's breathing was better, too, but needed some improvement; they'd also have to work on-

For a second, Bruce didn't understand what was happening. It was so sudden, the noises so animalistic, he would have _known_ if there'd been such large predators on the estate grounds- Not animals, it was the _Robins_ , tearing at Duke with nails and fangs, trying to kill him, bouncing right back from each of his defensive strikes as if they felt no pain. Duke was swearing loudly and bleeding a bit, surely they wouldn't be able to rip right through his protective suit-?!

"BAR!" Bruce screamed.

The Robins slammed to a halt like short-circuited robots. Jack, in mid-leap, tumbled to the ground and lay still where he'd fallen. Peter's face was blank and his teeth bared; John swayed a little, then looked at Bruce with a glassy-eyed, expectant expression, more like a hunting dog waiting for orders than a human child.

"Down! Stay down!" Bruce shouted as he ran to Duke, and John obediently crouched low.

Duke was still swearing, softly now, as he took stock of himself and his now battered protective gear. Bruce dropped to his knees beside him. "How bad are you hurt?"

"Not bad..." Duke winced as he wiped blood from his jaw. "Scratched me a little, but I'm okay."

"Alfred!" Alfred was already hurrying over. Bruce helped Duke to his feet. "Fix him up, and make whatever he wants for dinner."

"Yes, sir! Master Duke, are you all right?!"

"I'll be fine, Alfred."

Bruce anxiously watched them make their way into the house, then turned to the children. The youngest two seemed to have come back to themselves - Jack was hiding behind John, looking upset and guilty; Peter was growling uncomfortably and digging his fingers into the leash scars on his neck. John was still waiting for orders.

"...Boys."

" _crow_ "

 _"Sorry! Sorry!"_ Jack signed, then out loud, "Sssorry! Dddu'kke, ssorry, bbad Jjja'ckk..."

" _crow_ "

 _"You're angry,"_ Peter signed, looking furious himself. _"Hurt_ Dddu'kke _, bad you, Bad Laugh Man! [crow]! You hate them, we eat them!"_

"No, no, no, Peter, that's not what happened. We were _practicing_ , it was only practice!"

" _crow_ "

"John, stop that! Stop! Use human words!"

John stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"John, Peter, Jack, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have used violence in front of you. I _do not_ want you to hurt people, _especially_ family. Do not hurt family. Duke and I were practicing. We were pl-" Maybe it wasn't a good idea to equate violence with play. "We weren't hurting each other for real. I'm so sorry it looked that way to you. We won't ever do it again." _'Where you can see.'_

 _"I'm angry!"_

"Yes, I know, I'm so sorry, Peter. Jack, it's all right, Duke is not too hurt, he will forgive you." Jack whimpered and started to cry. Bruce picked him up and hugged him. "Sshh, Jack, it's all right. I'll take you to Duke and you'll see, I'm sure he's not angry. Peter, it's all right, no one hates anyone here, no one wants to hurt anyone here. ...John?"

"..."

He crouched and gently touched John's face. "Johnny. Look at me, chum." The boy was technically already looking at him, but it was with 'monsterbird' eyes, not his son's. "Johnny, come back. It's Bruce. You're safe. No hurting here. Johnny?"

John blinked slowly.

"Please say something with your hands, or your mouth. Human words. Just one word, Johnny."

Jack called softly in bird language, _"[big chirp-chirp] likes little chicks better than monsters."_

"Dickie, come back to me, please. Human words."

John finally dragged his hands through the air. _"Blood."_

"No blood. No more blood."

 _"Meat."_

"NO."

John's expression did not change, but a tear slipped down his cheek. Then his face crumpled and he broke into sobs. He wailed, trying to speak but too upset to pronounce anything intelligibly. Bruce, still holding Jack with one arm, embraced John with the other. _"Hurt him! We hurt him!"_

"Duke is all right. We will go see him now, and you can apologize. I'm sure he's not angry."

He let them pick flowers from one of the gardens and bring them to Duke, who was being patched up by Alfred in the bathroom down the hall from the kitchen. "Aw. Thanks, guys."

 _"SORRY!"_ Peter insisted.

"Dddu'kke, wwe sssorry, bbad bboy, me [ _chirp-chirp_ ] [ _caw_ ]."

 _"Sorry you blood no I don't like it bad sorry,"_ John signed as he cried.

"Really, guys, it's cool," Duke said awkwardly, getting the gist of it. "We're good. Thanks for the, uh, flowers."

 _"You are angry at us bad boys?"_

"Duke is not angry," Bruce said.

"I'm not mad. Here, come give me a hug. Don't mess with the bandages, or bite me."

John immediately clung to him, hug-hogging so that the younger boys didn't have room to do much more than pat Duke's arms and coo at him.

"Oof... Oooookay, thanks, John, that's enough now...you can let go now...please get off, man..."

Bruce decided to finish up the rest of the training session in the crime lab rather than attempting combat again. When he and Duke came back upstairs, they found the rest of the family in the kitchen. Tim, still in his business suit, was at the table with his head buried in his arms, possibly sleeping. The others were helping Alfred, Damian turning away from the stove to bossily direct the little ones (none of whom took any notice of him). John was scooping heaps of salad onto the plates, Peter was dropping ice cubes one at a time into a row of wooden tumblers, and Jack was painstakingly folding napkins. All three children abandoned their tasks to flock around Duke the instant he entered the room.

"Ddu'kke!"

 _"Happy now? Angry now?"_

 _"Sorry, I love you, gentle!"_

"No worries, I'm fine."

Even so, once the meal had been served, John climbed into Duke's lap to hug him again and stayed there for a long time, refusing to eat except when Duke literally placed food in his mouth. Peter and Jack chose the chairs on either side of him and pushed them even closer, and kept putting many of the morsels they earned onto Duke's plate.

"Seriously, stop giving me food! I _have_ food, I don't want yours!"

" _crow_ "

 _"Do not eat family. Sorry."_

"Look, you gave me flowers, right? That made up for it, so now it's done, over, finished."

"What _happened_ today?" Tim asked in bemusement.

"We found some more triggers," Bruce said wearily. "Tim, Damian, new rule: no sparring, horseplaying, or intense arguing in front of the Robins. They do not react well."

Duke snorted. Then he got up, pushed the younger boys' chairs a more standard distance away from his, and guided John around the table to Tim. "Someone else's turn to get the octopus hug treatment."

"Why _me_?" Tim protested.

"John, Tim is sad. Make him happy."

"I am not-!" John was already cuddling into him, and Tim sighed. "Whatever. I'm too tired." He resumed eating, now having to work around the boy in his lap.

Damian pointed his fork as Duke walked back around the table. "Don't you dare."

"I won't, but you're gonna have to step up sometime, Damian."

Duke paused to stoop down and stare Peter straight in the eye. "Hey. You're a good boy. Peter's a good boy." Peter gently touched the bandage on Duke's jaw. "It's fine. It's finished. You're sorry, I forgive you, finished. Okay? Now _eat your food_ , and keep your grubby little hands off my plate, got it?"

"Fffinnish."

"Finished." Duke stepped over to Jack to repeat the process. "Jack is a good boy."

 _"I'm sorry, you're not angry, I'm a good boy, finished."_

Duke glanced at Bruce, who nodded. "He understands."

"Good. Keep your hands off my plate, little man."

"Ddu'kke _food, me food_."

"There's enough food for both of us. Now chill out and eat."

"Cchhou't."

"'Chill out.'"

"Cchh'lll ou'tt." Jack asked Bruce for his next morsel, looking happier.

Duke exhaled deeply as he dropped back into his chair. "Having little brothers _is_ hard."

Bruce's phone chimed. He checked it, then remotely opened the gate to admit the visitor's car. A few minutes later, Alfred was escorting the babysitter into the dining room. "Aaaahhhh, they're so _cute_!"

All three Robins hurried to hide behind Bruce's chair, peering out in alarm at the exuberant newcomer.

"Nice job, Brown," Damian snorted. "At least you can add 'Frightening small children' to your short list of talents."

"Shut up, Damian," she said amiably. "Hey, babe!"

"Hi, Steph," Tim called back.

Bruce got up (prompting the kids to seek new refuge behind Tim) and went to greet Stephanie. "Thank you for coming. Help yourself to some dinner."

"Oh, I've already eaten, but thanks! Might grab a snack out of your fridge later, though."

"You're welcome to anything in the kitchen. How's the new hotel?"

"WAY better than the last one, thanks for the upgrade! Though we might not be there long - Mom started looking at apartments today, she doesn't want to come back to Gotham for at least another six months."

"I can't say I blame her... Come on, let me introduce you." He led her over to where Tim was eating with a long-suffering look on his face.

"Hi~ babies!" Stephanie squealed. "Oooohhh, it's an itty-bitty Dickie and an itty-bitty Jay and an itty-bitty Timmyyyy!"

 _"Gentle?"_ John wondered.

"I know she's loud, but she's gentle," Bruce said. He gave Stephanie a hard look. "They're skittish, so don't startle them."

"Awww, c'mere, baby~!" Though she hadn't lowered her voice much, her movements were soft and inviting as she bent, held out her arms, and slowly pulled a shy, uncertain, but smiling John into them. He giggled when she planted three rapid kisses on his head. "Mwah, mwah, mwah, gonna eat you up." He jerked back in surprise.

"Stephanie," Bruce said quickly, "before I found them, they experienced severe abuse and obviously have a lot of triggers and baggage as a result. Restraints, leashes, cages, eating human beings, Joker, violence, even Batman and Robin, are all topics to avoid. Please do not traumatize or distress them."

Stephanie's eyes were wide with shock. She hugged John again and rocked him back and forth, which he seemed to like. "Baaabies...my baaabies, Mama Steph's not gonna let anything bad happen to you, 'kay?"

"I forgot to add parents. That's on the Don't Mention list, too."

"Gah! I hope you punched all the bastard's teeth out and kicked him in the balls."

"It...was taken care of. And watch your language around them." Peter had now ventured close enough to wonderingly touch Stephanie's bright yellow hair, and Jack was investigating the unnecessarily complicated fastenings on her shoes. "I've got other instructions, too, and you can ask Alfred or the boys for help if you run into trouble." Bruce frowned. "Unless you're going out, too, Tim?"

"...Just standby and tech support tonight, I think," Tim mumbled.

Stephanie lightly smacked the back of his head. "Go to bed, dork! You're practically falling asleep on your plate."

Tim smiled a little. "No violence in front of the monsterbirds." Stephanie stuck out her tongue at him, and Peter tried to imitate her.

Bruce spent a long time giving Stephanie instructions and warnings, and elaborating on previous ones when new things occurred to him. At last, Damian burst out, "Brown can handle it, Father! Let's _go_ , it's getting late!"

Bruce shifted from foot to foot, feeling...anxious. He couldn't remember the last time he had experienced that emotion when not under the influence of drugs. "Just...pay attention to their cues, Stephanie. Try to keep them happy. When I get back, I can-"

"I'M GOING DOWNSTAIRS NOW, FATHER, AND I EXPECT YOU TO ACCOMPANY ME."

Stephanie saluted. "You can count on me, Bruce! I won't let you down!"

Bruce nodded, reluctantly turned away, and followed Damian to the grandfather clock.

In the cave, Damian scampered to the uniform storage, alight with excitement. "May I still be Batman tonight, Father? There can be two Batmen, Bat-one and Bat-two. I'll even let you be Bat-one, if you like."

Bruce hesitated. It seemed almost unthinkable to step out onto the rooftops in anything other than the cowl, but after Barbatos... The idea of bowing under the shadow of the Bat again made him feel a little ill. "...You can be Batman tonight, Damian."

"YES!" Damian pounced at his black uniform.

Bruce took much longer to get ready than his son did. Damian did an extra check of his equipment, chatted to Bat-cow for a few minutes, and then tried to work on the computer to pass time, but he couldn't concentrate. So he spun in the big chair, around and around and around, until his father FINALLY came out into the main cave. Damian leaped to his feet and started bounding over - then stopped and stared. "...Father?"

Bruce hadn't liked how he felt in full black, and an idea had occurred to him as he was looking at alternate garb. In the end, he had chosen to dress in a red tunic, green combat boots laced up over his pants, a domino mask, and a cloak with a gold inner lining. "Batman needs a Robin, doesn't he?"

Damian actually shrieked in delight and flung his arms around his father. Bruce hugged him tightly, enjoying having a happy son in his arms for once. Damian pulled back and pointed dramatically. "To the Batmobile, Robin!"

"I'm still driving."

"What?! But I _can_ , and I'm Batman!"

 _TBC_

A/N: I hate the way almost everyone at DC writes Stephanie, so I'm not even trying to make her IC. (If you can call cooperating with people who apparently hate this character "IC.") I'm giving her free rein over her own characterization and just writing her however the heck she wants.


	17. Chapter 9, Part 3

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 9.3 (rough draft 2)**

 **A/N: BRUCE IS WEARING PANTS.** There was some confusion when I first posted this chapter, a lot of people _mistakenly_ thinking it was the little green panties. X''D No no no, it's based on Damian's outfit with the black pants, _not_ Dick's and Jason's pre-Flashpoint one.

o.o.o

Part of the reason it had taken Bruce so long to get ready for patrol was that he'd been meditating. Being Batman had been second nature to him for years, but Robin was a new and different persona whose headspace he'd needed to get into. _'Do not skulk in the shadows,'_ he reminded himself again even now. _'You're wearing different colors, they will see you coming and you'll look like a fool. Do not skulk.'_ His Robins had been able to blend into the shadows to some extent, but they didn't _become_ shadows the way Bruce had gotten so used to doing. He wouldn't be able to rely on that tonight, and he'd have to catch himself quickly if he started trying to do it out of habit.

Each of his sons had taken a different approach to Robin, but what they all had in common was that they couldn't intimidate their adversaries. Instead, Dick had chosen to distract and infuriate; Jason had stuck with the underhanded wiliness that had served him so well on the streets; Tim had gone with meticulous strategy; and Damian had made up for his small size with savagery and sheer skill.

...Then again, all of them had been children when they'd started, Tim the oldest at merely fourteen. No matter how Bruce was dressed, nothing changed the fact that he was a tall, muscular, and well-built man. _'I can't intimidate them as a phantom, but if I can find something other than a creature of the night to channel...'_ Robin Hood, perhaps - the original legacy Dick had so loved. _'I seek justice and defend the innocent.'_

Navigating the city was a little trickier than it had been before. Some of the more devastated areas of town were still just expanses of rubble, with nothing for a grappling hook to attach to. "Come, Robin," Damian sighed. "Orphan says we must stop for every citizen in need, even the ones too stupid to go to one of the shelters."

They spent a good half hour thermal-scanning the piles of rubble, leaving care packs with the people who'd burrowed in for the night like animals in their dens. Most of them were either asleep or didn't acknowledge the aid, though one woman reached out a claw-like hand to hold Bruce's wrist for a moment. "The booklet has directions to all the shelters in Gotham," Bruce said gently, taking it out of the pack to show her. "Please make your way to one of them in the morning, all right? They have more supplies there, and resources for getting a more stable roof over your head and locating missing loved ones." The woman blinked slowly and didn't reply. Bruce reluctantly rose to his feet and moved on.

Even in parts of town where buildings were still standing, Bruce and Damian had to do scans before jumping to make sure the structures were still stable enough to take their weight and motion. It slowed their progress, and Bruce wondered if they ought to be traveling on motorcycles. "Have you or any of the others tried taking bikes?"

"Red Robin sometimes does; Orphan doesn't bother. I prefer flying."

Bruce smiled a little. "And the car? It's not much use within the disaster zones."

"Robin. I'm _Batman_. Batman uses the Batmobile."

"Fair point."

The first crime they came across was a group of thugs robbing a pair of displaced people.

 _'Do not skulk.'_ Bruce let Damian attack first, following his lead for once. Bat'man' swung in screaming a war cry, downing two thugs with his momentum and incapacitating two more in the next second. The last thug standing tried to flee, shrieking about the return of the evil Batmen. Bruce stepped into his path and dropped him with one swift punch to the face. He looked up at the would-be victims he and his son had just rescued, suddenly self-conscious about being seen in his Robin getup.

The woman was staring at him in awe. "Batman," she whispered.

Bruce, not knowing how to react, started to melt back into the shadows of an alley, but caught himself just in time and grappled up to the roof instead, leaving behind Damian to exclaim indignantly, "I'M Batman, you fool!"

Now out of sight, Bruce crept to the edge of the roof to both keep an eye on Damian and be on the lookout for potential threats.

"...shouldn't be running around in that costume, it's _offensive_!" the man was saying below. "After what those _monsters_ did to Gotham, how can you wear that cowl so proudly?!"

"Apparently you don't have the mental capacity to tell the difference between the _real_ Batman and a gang of unsanctioned perversions."

"That was him, though!" the woman spoke up reverently. "The real one! Dressed different, but he came back! Batman's come back to save Gotham again!"

"SAVE Gotham?!" her companion shrieked incredulously. "Look around, Lorraine! Gotham's _dead_ , thanks to Batman!"

Damian's tone was seething. "I am going to leave now, before I injure you like I did these lowlifes."

"Good boy," Bruce whispered. When Damian dropped onto the roof a minute later, Bruce straightened and said it again. "Good job, Rob- Batman. I'm proud of you for backing off when you did."

"He was an _imbecile_! I wanted to _strangle_ him!"

"But you didn't. Nightwing would be proud, too."

"And how did that woman recognize you?! Your outfit is completely different!"

"I suppose my build is familiar in a close enough context..." Which would make being seen dressed as Robin even more embarrassing. "Let's make sure they get to a shelter safely and then move on."

The next job was confiscating crates of drugs from a gang who'd thought to take advantage of Gotham's vulnerability and the preoccupation of the police. Of course the criminals objected to the removal of their stash, so Batman and Robin beat them up. Interestingly, the thugs reacted to the Dynamic Duo as usual, as if the costumes didn't matter - it was still the burly adult who angered and frightened them, drawing the majority of their attention, and the child whom they treated as more of an annoying afterthought.

"YOUR MISTAKE FOR TURNING YOUR BACK ON BATMAN, FOOLS!"

Delivering the subdued gang to GCPD headquarters meant traveling through the more restored areas of town, which had actual police presence. The vigilantes didn't even need to assist in stopping a burglary in progress.

The officer who'd just finished taking the statement of one of the would-be victims started to turn back to his car, then paused and frowned when he caught sight of Batman and Robin watching from a nearby rooftop. "Get out of here!" he shouted. "Batman is not welcome in Gotham anymore!"

"Batman goes where he's needed," Damian shouted back, "whether he's welcome or not!"

"Go home, kid! You're going to get shot if you keep playing this game, I don't care what idiot you found to be your bodyguard!"

"ROBIN'S NOT AN IDIOT, HE'S-! Mmf!"

Bruce dragged his son back out of sight. "The less said about me, the better," he hissed. Damian nodded sulkily. "Let's go, we've still got work to do."

A couple of hours later, they spotted a shadowy figure in the distance, leaping from one rooftop to another. The figure paused. Then it started making its way toward them, and Bruce and Damian headed to meet up.

"Hello, Orphan," Bruce said when they landed on the same rooftop.

Cassandra beamed at him, then snapped a photo. Bruce tensed, immediately imagining the field day his older children would have at his expense when they saw the picture. It was already going to be bad enough that they'd find out about the Robin costume eventually.

Cassandra must have read something in his body language, because her face softened. "Look good," she assured him. "Won't tell." She cradled the device close to her heart. "For me, alone."

"Thank you..."

"I think he makes a fine Robin," Damian asserted proudly. "A fitting companion to my Batman."

Cassandra's smile turned sly. "Batman. Very cute."

"Batman is not _cute_!"

"What signal is that?" Bruce asked suddenly. A light had appeared reflected on the clouds, but it was in the shape of a bird, roughly resembling the national emblem, rather than a bat.

"It's the Bat Signal," Damian informed him. "Gordon is just too cowardly to use the proper shape now."

"I see." Bruce nodded at his daughter. "We'll see you later, Orphan."

"I love. Tell them," she said.

"I will," he promised, as he always did when she asked him to give her love to her brothers.

At police headquarters, Bruce stayed out of sight and let Damian be the one to drop to the roof behind Jim. "Commissioner."

Jim sighed a little as he turned around. "You're not tall enough for the 'appearing out of thin air' trick to spook me. Where's your partner?"

"Around," Damian pouted. "Why did you call? One of the Rogues again?"

"I'm not going to send you after a Rogue by yourself."

"Why does everyone doubt me?! I was trained by the League of Assassins for the first ten years of my life! I single-handedly fought off every assassin Talia al Ghul sent after me when she put a bounty on my head! I once kicked _Superman's_ butt! I CAN DO THIS!"

Jim was quiet for a moment, absorbing all this. Finally he said, "You just remind me of my own kid and her...dangerous hobbies. For my own peace of mind, tell me where your partner is, Batman."

"*SIIIIGGGHHH* Within earshot. _He_ doesn't think I can do this alone, either. Now who's the Rogue?"

"He?" Jim echoed in confusion. Then he cleared his throat and answered the question. "Calendar Man. He's been causing disturbances at the shelters, and we need to get him off the streets as soon as possible. I-" He suddenly squinted up into the shadows. "Who's there?"

"...It's me, Jim."

"Batma-?" Jim glanced back at Damian, who folded his arms and raised his chin.

Bruce reluctantly dropped down to join his son. Jim stared at him for a moment in his Robin garb. He facepalmed and muttered, "Dear God, man...," then raised his head with regained composure and continued, "Just find Calendar Man, please. The sooner, the better. Here's a map marked with all the shelters he's hit so far, they're numbered chronologically."

Bruce started to accept the paper that was handed to him, and allowed Damian to snatch it first. "...Jim, the cowl is heavier than usual these days."

Jim waved his hand wearily. "I know. You've got a lot on your plate. ...League of Assassins, for God's sake, because why not assassins...guess that explains some things..." He switched off the signal and walked back into the building, his turn now to leave the vigilantes alone on the rooftop.

Damian waved the map. "Come, Robin!"

"Right behind you, Batman," Bruce said indulgently.

The pattern was clear enough, and they caught up with Calendar Man at what would logically be next on the list. Batman and Robin hurried through the building's already-shattered front doors to find Calendar Man menacing the terrified people inside. "WHERE IS HE?! TELL ME WHERE HE IS BEFORE I START SHOOTING!"

A batarang knocked the weapon out of his hand. Batman and Robin were on him before he finished turning, but he recovered quickly from their initial strikes and fled instead of retaliating.

They pursued him a couple of blocks until they managed to trap him in a dead end. "Enough, Julian," Bruce thundered. "You _will_ end up back in prison tonight, so don't make this even harder on yourself."

"The defenders of Gotham City are still alive and well!" Damian added. "You're a fool to think you can get away with this!"

Bruce inconspicuously gestured to shush him.

"Just find my son," Julian snarled. "Find Aden! I'll come quietly if you can prove he's safe, but if you don't, I'll burn you along with the rest of the city!"

"You lunatic! Why should innocent people suffer-"

"Watch him, Batman. I'll start checking databases." Bruce stepped away and accessed his wrist computer. After almost half an hour, most of which was spent waiting for Nightwing to confirm his findings and send a suitable photo, Bruce returned to Julian and held up his holo-display where the man could see it. "Aden and his foster family are safe in a Blüdhaven shelter."

"...Holos are too easy to fake! I need _real_ proof!"

Bruce sighed, called Cassandra to come join Damian on guard duty, went all the way back to the Batmobile where it was parked on the outskirts of the city, used the computer inside to print out a hard copy of the photo, then made his way back, where police vehicles had now joined the stalemate. Bruce swung over their heads, landed in the alley beside his children, and handed the picture to Calendar Man. "There. Aden is safe, Nightwing personally saw him with his own eyes. I would not lie about something like this, Julian, and you know it."

Julian raised his head from studying the photo to studying Bruce's masked face. "...Guess you wouldn't, Batman," he murmured.

Damian threw up his hands. "Does no one see the bat ears on my cowl?! I'M Batman! HE'S Robin!"

Julian Day finally surrendered to the waiting officers. Bruce escaped to a rooftop before any of them could get a good look at him, and was soon joined by Damian and Cassandra. "Thank you, Orphan." She nodded and took off again.

Damian sounded genuinely upset. "Why won't anyone acknowledge me? You _said_ I could be Batman. I'm wearing the outfit, I'm doing all the things you do, I am good enough! This is my legacy, I was born to do this! But they didn't accept you at first, either, did they. I'm not doing this for...for the recognition, I'm doing this because it's right, it doesn't matter what other people say as long as I fight evil and help people have better lives..."

Bruce, proud of him for no longer dwelling on how offended he was, put an arm around him. "Batman...really, it's just that you're still young. That's the only reason. I'm sure you'll always be a different Batman than I am, but I know you'll make a good one, because you already are. They'll respect you more when you get older and grow into your adult height. In the meantime, you have _my_ respect, Batman."

Damian leaned into him. "Thank you, Father."

 _TBC_

A/N: I don't know much about Calendar Man. I'm basing him on a New 52 _Detective Comics_ mini-arc that I skim-read, and the Wikis were not helpful at all, so I really didn't know what I was doing with him. I just wanted a minor Rogue to make an appearance.

 **Again, BRUCE-ROBIN HAS PANTS. X''''D**


	18. Chapter 9, Part 4

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 9.4 (rough draft 2)**

As soon as Bruce and Damian had left the room, Stephanie clapped her hands. "Okay, kiddos!"

"Whatever you're about to do, do it later," Tim cut in. "John's barely eaten anything."

"What?!" Stephanie looked down at John, who gave her an 'I'm cute, so don't be mad at me' smile that was pure Dick Grayson (plus fangs). "What do you think this sweet spread is for?! Sit your butt down in that chair, young man, and eat your dinner!"

"I'll show you how the feeding thing works," Tim offered.

"Oh, good. Bruce made it sound more complicated than it probably is."

"He did."

Jack, who'd already eaten enough and now had more interesting things to do, brought Munro Leaf's _The Story of Ferdinand_ over to Duke. "Rrrea'dd, pllease."

"Okay. Just one, though; I'm not done eating, either." He opened the book. "'Once upon a time in Spain there was a little bull and his name was Ferdinand'..."

Meanwhile, Stephanie, who wasn't completely fluent in ASL but knew enough to get by, had pretty much gotten the hang of the feeding system. Unfortunately, signs for food items didn't often figure in the sort of ASL conversations she was used to having. "Uh...I got the 'please give me' part, but I don't know what he actually asked for."

"Grapes." Tim helpfully handed over the bowl. "Whoa, too much! Just give him, like, four. The point is for them to practice communication and not gobble the whole meal in three seconds, which means small portions at a time. It's okay if it takes a while."

"But I want to _play_ with them, not sit at the dinner table all night!"

Tim held up his hands in a 'not gonna stop you' gesture.

"Okay, how 'bout this: I'll play Bruce's Feed The Birds game for fifteen minutes, then we'll finish up quick and go play for real. How's that sound, babies?"

 _"I want to eat and play,"_ Peter agreed.

"My man~!"

 _"Please give me apple juice,"_ John asked.

"What was-?"

"He wants more juice. Just a little bit - it's the same as with the food."

Once they were finished eating, Stephanie grabbed the rolling crate she'd packed with supplies and wheeled it along as she led the children to a corridor. The boys watched curiously as she created a hopscotch grid with masking tape. When she finished, she straightened back up with a flourish. "Okay, so! The way you play is like this." She demonstrated. "One foot in the single squares, both feet in the doubles."

The boys shifted and chirred, their expressions mixed.

"You wanna try first, baby Dickie?" she asked, since he looked the most eager. "Here, I'll help you."

All three of them had trouble at first, since the motions were almost painfully different than the way they were accustomed to moving. Predictably, Dick Grayson's counterpart was the first one to successfully navigate the grid without help, and Peter plowed after him, determined to prove he could do anything his big brother could do.

 _"I don't like it,"_ Jack pouted.

"Aww, Jackie! What if I give you a treat at the end?" She opened a pack of mini cookies and held one up.

Jack's eyes gleamed, and Peter shrieked with great interest. Jack looked down at the grid and studied it for a minute. He crouched slightly, spreading his arms wide. Then he hopped into the first square, started to wobble, and cawed angrily.

"Quick, Jackie, quick, go fast so you won't have time to fall!"

 _Hop, hop, hop._ He rested on the first set of doubles, panting a little.

"Awesome, Jackie! Halfway there, you can do it!"

 _Hop, hop._ " _crow_ " he said determinedly. _Hop, hop_ , and then he fell into Stephanie's arms at the end.

"YAAAAYYYY!" she cheered. He screwed up his face and covered his ears. "GOOD JOB, JACKIE, I'M SO PROUD OF YOU! HERE'S YOUR COOKIE!"

"MME!" Peter shouted, and dove into the grid to earn a cookie, too.

They played until the boys started getting a little rowdy and Duke passed by the end of the hall, paused, and backtracked. "Are you giving them cookies?"

"They can play hopscotch now, Duke!"

"Man, they already had dessert! You really want to deal with three monsterbirds on a sugar high?"

"Hmmmm."

"There's a treat stash for them in the pantry, crackers and fruit and stuff. I'll get you a bag."

"Thanks, Duke!"

John's and Peter's competitiveness was starting to get violent, and Jack had taken to sneaking cookies he hadn't earned. By the time Duke came back with healthier snacks, the children were shrieking in protest as Stephanie pulled the tape off the floor.

"No more hopscotch, 'cuuuuz you guys aren't listening to me anymore! I got a better idea, okay?" Seeking a quieter activity to calm them down, she got Alfred to find them some poster board, and set a sheet in front of each child. "We're gonna make collages! I brought magazines, see? You can look through the magazines, and tell me which pictures you want and I'll cut them out for you, then we'll glue them on your posters."

She demonstrated on her own poster, cutting out a picture of one of her favorite actresses and gluing it down to start her collage. "See? Now it's Johnny's turn!"

They didn't seem to know what they were doing at first, but slowly got the hang of it, at which point they became enthusiastic about hunting for pictures that appealed to them. John, in addition to choosing almost every picture of a happy person that he saw (with all the red-haired ones clustered together in a place of prominence), picked out some elephants and other exotic animals from a _National Geographic_ magazine. Peter's collage had lots of pictures of food; also a screenshot of an explosion from a review of an action movie, and an ad that featured a mother lovingly cradling her baby. Jack chose a toy robot and a city skyline, then tugged on Stephanie's sleeve to show her what he wanted on his collage more than magazine pictures.

"Awwww, you have your own phone? That's so cute!" Then she paid attention to what was actually on the screen, which was a closeup of John and Peter as they slept. "So CUTE!"

"Gg'lllue." He set the phone on the poster.

"Ohhh, you want that picture on your collage?"

"Yysss."

Stephanie bounced to her feet. "DUUUUKE, HELP ME PRINT JACKIE'S PICTURES!" she hollered as she went in search of the other teen.

A few minutes later, Duke was going through Jack's phone in amazement. "When did you figure out how to use the camera? When did you _take_ all these?!" There were tons of photographs, many blurred or too close up to be identifiable, though there was a noticeable progression of quality. A lot of them were of Jack's brothers (John was even _posing_ in the most recent ones), book covers and pages, toys, Titus and Alfred, and random points of interest he'd found in the house or outdoors. A few were of Bruce as he slept, and distant shots of Alfred as he worked around the house; there were even a couple of Duke himself, both instances where his attention was elsewhere. "Geez, kid. These are kind of cool."

"Gg'lllue."

"Okay, okay. We can't print anything directly 'cause this phone isn't networked, so let me see if it's already got an SD card in it."

The rest of Jack's collage ended up being photos that he'd taken, all carefully grouped as if he valued organization over artistry. John and Peter had clamored for some of the photos, too, though they glued them onto their posters more haphazardly.

"Beauuuutiful," Stephanie cooed when they couldn't fit anymore pictures onto their collages. "Let's put them over here to dry, okay? Then you can show Daddy when he comes home from work!"

"Ddaddy?"

"Eeek, I forgot, don't talk about parents...! I meant Bruce! You can show Bruce when he comes home, he'll be so proud! I promise I'll make him actually _tell_ you he's proud."

"Bbooss nno ddaddy," John insisted, though Jack repeated the word to himself thoughtfully, and Peter looked pensive.

"It's okay, he doesn't have to be. Hey, how about we give you cuties a makeover now?"

Most of the bathrooms in Wayne Manor were outlandishly big, so there was plenty of room in the nearest one for all three children, Stephanie, and her giant cosmetic bag. "Allll-righty! What should we do first?"

The kids were already poking through the various bottles, tubes, and brushes. John stroked a soft, poofy brush against his palm and then his cheek; Jack curiously clacked a claw clip open and shut. The days of signing and playing with toys had been gradually improving the children's manual dexterity.

"You like that clip, Jackie? It goes in your hair, like this." He wouldn't let her take the clip out of his hand, but he did sit still for her when she fetched out a cluster of tiny clips and did up his hair with them. He leaned to stare at himself in the mirror.

 _"Red, green, blue, purple,"_ Peter was signing in between stacking up small bottles like Lego bricks.

"You want nail polish, Peter?" Stephanie offered. "You can pick whichever color you want! Oh, wait, but maybe I should take out the-"

To her surprise, Peter went straight for Rock the Runway red, despite her worry that the color might be triggering.

"Welp, if that's what you want! Hold still, sweetie."

He didn't like having his nails painted at all, but when he jerked back, he jostled her so that she accidentally painted a red stripe on his arm. John and Jack both whimpered in alarm at the blood-like streak on their brother's skin, but Peter looked fascinated, especially when he saw it reflected in the mirror. Watching his reflection intently, he stuck his other finger in the polish and smeared it further.

"It's supposed to go on your nails, goofy! Like mine."

Peter wasn't interested in her fabulous pink fingernails. He touched his Rock the Runway-stained fingertip to his cheek, then giggled at the print that was left behind.

 _"[caw], no blood, no blood!"_ John cried in distress.

 _"Not blood. Smells worse than blood. Looks good. I like it."_ He grabbed the little brush so he could paint streaks on his face.

"Uh...well, have at it, I guess...gosh, you guys really do sound like birds... So what about you guys? Which color do you want?"

 _"Doesn't hurt?"_ John asked his brother anxiously.

 _"Doesn't hurt. Fun."_

John picked Loot the Booty blue.

"Ooohh, this one has sparkles in it! Nice!" Both John and Jack watched intently as Stephanie painted his nails and Peter continued going to town with Rock the Runway. "Aaaand done! Ack, don't touch, John! Don't move!" He stared at her in mild alarm, then curiosity when she blew gently across his nails to help dry them. "Hold your hands like this and _don't touch anything_ , or the polish will smear. Jackie, which-? Don't touch! I'll tell you when the polish is dry, okay, John? Sorry, Jackie; which color do you want?"

Hesitantly, he pointed at Off Tropic green.

"You got it, babe!" However, like Peter, he jerked his hands away at the sensation of the brush. "Ack, Jackie, don't do that, it smears!"

He touched the blob of nail polish, then tried to rub it off his fingers, but it wouldn't come off. At the sticky feel of it, he started to whimper in distress and flap his hands as if trying to shake the polish off.

"Oh, honey, it's okay, it's okay! You don't like it? I'll get it off."

He held his hands out rigidly as if they were diseased, looking too frightened to move them to sign. "Sss'ccare! I ddoh't llah, llike it!"

"Okay, Jackie, I'm getting if off, I promise." But all three boys screamed and jerked away from her when she opened a bottle and they caught the strong scent of nail polish remover. "It's okay! I promise, it's okay, it's to get the nail polish off, Jack!"

 _"Burn! You burn us!"_

"Burn? No, no, it doesn't hurt at all, see?" Loath to ruin her pink nails, which she'd just done yesterday, she swiped a bit of polish onto her arm and then rubbed it away with the remover. "See? I know it's stinky, but it doesn't hurt."

"Nno!" Jack screamed, starting to sob. John was now trying to shake the polish from his nails, too, looking panicked. Peter was clenching the tiny polish brush tightly in his hand as if he thought he could use it as a weapon.

"Okay, okay, let's not panic!" Stephanie said, panicking. "Duke! Alfred! Someone help!"

A few minutes later, Alfred was trying to calm the children as Duke and Stephanie feverishly looked up alternative methods for removing nail polish. "Oh, dude, you're not supposed to use nail polish remover on skin, anyway," Duke discovered. Then he laughed. "Apparently Peter's not the only kid who's painted his face with nail polish."

"Focus, Duke! We can't use remover anyway without them freaking out! AHAH, toothpaste, this site says you can get it off with toothpaste!"

"This one's saying olive oil, or vinegar," Duke said, scrolling.

"I will go fetch some straightaway," Alfred said. "Master Jack, if you will be so good as to transfer your hold to Master Duke here, I assure you I will be back very soon."

Jack buried his face in Duke's sweatshirt and cried. "Steph," Duke said, patting Jack soothingly and then ruffling John's hair when the older boy huddled close as well, "see if there's any rubbing alcohol in the cabinets, too."

"Okay! OOH, found the toothpaste. Jackie, come here, baby, come here!"

The toothpaste didn't work, and neither did the oil Alfred brought. The alcohol and vinegar, while not entirely effective, at least made a dent in the streaks on their skin, though the boys refused to let Stephanie come near them with the strong-smelling substances and only very nervously submitted to Alfred's and Duke's ministrations. Jack started to cry again as Duke scrubbed away, even when the teen tried to be gentler, and Peter only tolerated about half a minute of application before he jerked away from Alfred, screamed in displeasure, and hurled a bottle of lotion across the room. John was staring at his sparkly blue nails as if they were alien parasites.

"Maybe we can try the one where wet polish gets the dry polish off," Stephanie ventured, nearly in tears. Bruce had been so adamant that she not frighten his already traumatized little babies, yet here she was traumatizing the poor things, when all she'd wanted to do was make them happy. Wasting even more of her cosmetics seemed like a fair price to pay. "Jackie, will you let me try?" He buried his face in Duke's neck. "Oh nooo! Johnny, will you let me?"

He stared at her and said nothing, but didn't resist when she very gently took his hand and very gently dabbed some fresh polish onto a nail, held her breath in apprehension, and wiped it off with a paper towel. Both the new and older polish disappeared from John's fingernail like magic. "AAAHHH, Alfred, it works!"

John made a trilling sound. He let her work until she'd finished cleaning his left hand, but when she reached for his right, he tucked it protectively against his chest, backed away a couple of steps, then signed, _"I keep! Shiny."_

"You want to keep the polish on that hand?"

 _"Yes."_

"Do you...want me to paint your other nails again?"

 _"No!"_

O-okay, baby, okay, whatever you want!"

"Miss Stephanie, it's high time for the children to get ready for bed, and there's a good chance bathing will help with the...nail polish issues, in any case."

"Oooohhh, Bruce is going to be so mad at me for painting his baby birds!"

In the master bathroom, Alfred started covering the shower door with towels while Stephanie ran water in the bath. "Master Peter, I believe you ought to wash in the shower tonight rather than the tub." Peter had been quite thorough with Rock the Runway, and still had plenty of red polish on his face and hands.

"Rrrre-duh. Ii lllike," Peter asserted as he flung off his clothes.

"Preferably for things such as your clothing and artistic choices, young master," Alfred replied as he accepted the dirty clothes Jack was handing him through the slightly ajar shower door.

Stephanie helped John get his shirt off when it got stuck halfway. "Is the water too hot or too cold? Touch it first before you get in, I don't want to screw up again...!"

By the end of their baths, all the remnants of nail polish streaks on Jack had disappeared. Peter still had some, but the warm water and the scrubbing Alfred managed to do before he was rebuffed again had significantly improved the situation. Peter grinned into the mirror at what was left of Rock the Runway on his face as he brushed his teeth. "Mr. Baby Red Hood," Stephanie teased, poking at a bright red spot of lacquer on his forehead.

As Alfred tidied up the bathroom, Stephanie set up the boys' collages where they could easily see them from their nest, then crawled onto the mattress to cuddle with the children and read them their bedtime stories. First it was _If You Give a Moose a Muffin_ , which they selected from the assortment of picture books she'd brought. Then she reached for the novel on the desk. "Okay, Bruce said he started reading _Peter Pan_ to you guys." She opened to the marked page. "[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."

 _"Book people,"_ Jack told her at one point. _"Different than us people. That_ Jjjohn _this_ Jjohn _, that_ Ppe'tter _this_ Ppe'tter _. Different."_

"I didn't even notice that!" Stephanie laughed. "Yup, Peter Pan and Peter Wayne are different people, and John Darling and John Wayne." She chuckled again. "John Wayne's a cowboy or something, isn't he? And then there's Jack Frost, Jack Sparrow, Jack Skellington... You guys have lots of story people brothers, huh."

 _TBC_

 **A/N: Nail polish credits to the Essie Web site.** I know nothing about makeup; that was just the first site that came up when I did a search on "nail polish colors."


	19. Chapter 9, Part 5

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 9.5 (rough draft 2)**

At the end of patrol, Damian looked tired but satisfied. Bruce had rather enjoyed his return to the field as well, but was now anxious to see his youngest children. He didn't want to leave Damian too hastily, for fear of giving the impression that he was only spending time with him out of obligation, so Bruce tried not to hurry too much through cleanup and reports. He paid attention to Damian's casual conversation and accompanied him upstairs.

Only when the boy headed toward the kitchen for a snack before bed did Bruce bid him good night (or good morning, rather) and head for the family's personal wing. He paused briefly to check on Stephanie, who was asleep in her designated room with the Bat Baby Monitor on the bedside table. Then Bruce moved on to his own room.

Jack was the one currently on 'guard duty,' looking at Robert Munsch's _Love You Forever_ with the book light he'd been given. He looked up when Bruce entered, but didn't seem alarmed.

 _"Hello,"_ Bruce signed. _"Hands only, no mouths. Your brothers are sleeping."_

 _"Time for breakfast?"_

 _"Not yet. I want to sleep a little first."_

 _"Where you went?"_

 _"I went to play with D-a-m-i-a-n."_

 _"Teach me,"_ Jack said, not recognizing the signs for individual letters.

 _"I can't yet."_ Bruce pulled up a picture of Damian on his phone, then signed slowly, _"D-a-m-i."_

Jack looked down at his own hands in dismay.

Bruce waved to regain his attention and went on, _"You can make an easier name for him that's just for signing."_

 _"Bossy,"_ Jack said at once. _"Him Bossy."_

Bruce resisted the urge to chuckle. _"I went to play with Bossy. Now I am tired and will sleep."_

 _"I read book."_

 _"Good. Did you like playing with S-t-e-p-h-a-n-i-e?"_ He pulled up another photo to accompany the name.

 _"Loud Shiny,"_ Jack named her. _"Fun and scary."_

 _"Loud Shiny scared you?"_

Jack scrunched his fingers at Bruce.

 _"I don't understand."_

 _"Colors. Sticky, blood. Fight Brother likes it, me and Protect Brother scared."_

Bruce was concerned now. _"Blood?"_

 _"Sticky."_

Bruce got up and moved over to the bathroom, wanting to examine Jack for injuries. _"Come here."_

Jack looked at Bruce, then at his sleeping brothers. _"No."_

Bruce moved a lamp to the far side of the desk and switched it on. _"Come here,"_ he tried again.

 _"Don't hurt me."_

 _"I will not."_

Jack crept hesitantly over to Bruce, who made sure to move slowly and gently as he checked the boy under the lamp. As far as he could tell, there was nothing physically amiss. _"Did Loud Shiny hurt you?"_

 _"No."_

 _"Did someone else hurt you?"_

 _"No."_

 _"Loud Shiny scared you?"_

 _"Yes."_ Jack made that strange gesture again with his fingers.

Bruce studied them carefully under the lamp, and found a trace of green lacquer. _"She put nail polish on you?"_

It was not a sign the boys would know, but whether it was clear enough to be self-explanatory or Stephanie had taught them, Jack apparently understood. _"Yes. Nail polish is bad?"_

Bruce wasn't quite sure how to answer that under the circumstances ( _'She put NAIL POLISH on them?'_ ), but settled for, _"No. If an adult is with you, it's safe. It is dangerous if you use it by yourself, but if an adult is with you, it's safe."_

Jack seemed to ponder this for a while. _"Me and Protect Brother scared; Fight Brother not scared. Fight Brother knows."_

Assuming that 'Fight Brother' was Peter, Bruce moved back to the nest for a better look, careful not to get too close. He'd learned from experience that the boys did not like him to invade their bed. Jack was tense as he watched.

Peter had marks on his face. The light wasn't good enough to identify them, so Bruce backed away again and demanded of Jack, _"Is Fight Brother hurt?"_

 _"No."_

 _"What is on his face?"_

 _"Nail polish."_

Bruce suppressed a sigh. _"Is Protect Brother hurt?"_

 _"No. Shiny fingernails."_

"..." Bruce looked again, this time at John. The boy's left hand looked normal in the dim light. His right was tucked under his cheek, but the two nails peeking out looked darker than they should be. _"...Does he like it?"_

 _"Maybe."_

 _"What else did you and Loud Shiny play?"_

 _"Jump cookie. Glue."_

 _'Cookies? Glue? Stephanie, what have you been_ _doing_ _with my boys?'_ Bruce thought in exasperation. _"Glue?"_ he asked visibly.

Jack pointed, and for the first time, Bruce paid closer attention to the posters near the nest. Jack brought one of them under the lamp to show him. _"Proud. I make this good."_

 _"Very good,"_ Bruce affirmed automatically, but his attention was on the photographs. _"...Let me see your cell phone."_

 _"My cell phone. I keep it."_

 _"I won't take it. I will only look."_

Jack reluctantly produced his phone, holding onto it but allowing Bruce to access the touchscreen. Bruce soon found the photographs Jack had apparently been taking for who knew how long without anyone noticing. The sound effects were off, since Bruce made that the default for all his personal phones, and the child either didn't know how to or didn't want to enable them again.

 _"...These are good. Interesting."_ He paused at one of the photographs of himself. He wasn't sure how to feel about the evidence that at least one of the boys left the nest during the night long enough to climb on his bed and get so close to him as he slept unaware.

Jack, apparently picking up on his unease, pulled the phone away and held it protectively against his chest.

 _"It's all right. Your photos are good."_ He studied the other collages under the lamp as well, intrigued by the indirect glimpse into his youngest children's minds.

John awakened with a wail, causing Peter to stir. Jack hurried to them, held a soft conversation in bird language, then cuddled with John to comfort him from the nightmare and soon fell asleep. Peter relaxed as well, having never quite reached consciousness.

John watched Bruce.

 _"Are you sad or scared?"_ Bruce asked.

 _"...Breakfast?"_

 _"Not yet. I will sleep first. I went to play with Bossy,"_ he showed a picture of Damian to explain whom he meant, _"but now I'm tired."_

 _"Tired,"_ John signed, and looked it, even though he'd just woken up. _"Tie us, hurt us, scare us?"_

 _"No seatbelts today."_ He wanted to change the subject to a more pleasant topic. _"Did you have fun with Loud Shiny?"_ he asked, showing a picture of Stephanie.

 _"...Blue fingernails, shiny. Smell worse than blood. Good."_

 _"Your poster."_ Bruce tapped the collage to explain the new sign. _"I like it. It's good."_

 _"...Fun."_

 _"I'm glad."_ Bruce felt like he was about to collapse from exhaustion. _"I will sleep now."_

 _"Good night,"_ John said dutifully.

Bruce crawled into bed and instantly fell asleep. He woke up a couple of hours later to find all three boys awake, jumping around like they were playing hopscotch. They fell still and warily clustered together when he sat up. "Good morning," he told them.

"Sssea-tuhbbe-tuh?"

 _"Seatbelt! Bad!"_

"Seatbelts tomorrow, not today," he said patiently, and tried to continue being patient when they asked him over and and over again all morning.

Stephanie appeared about halfway through breakfast, yawning. "Mmmmmorning~ everyone!" She planted a kiss on the side of a half-asleep Tim's head, then bestowed more kisses on the children. She smiled a little apprehensively at Bruce. "We had fun last night!"

"So I hear," he said dryly.

"The rest of the nail polish will come off... It was a lot worse yesterday."

 _'How bad was it yesterday?!'_ "The collages were a good idea," was what he said out loud.

"Thanks! They were fun. I didn't know where to put them, though! How come the kids don't have their own room?!"

"I- They'll get their own room, I just don't quite trust them to pass the night on their own yet." He thought about it as he put a spoonful of eggs on Peter's plate. "I suppose we could give it a try soon, though. And you're right, they need their own space, whether they're sleeping in it or not." His room _had_ been getting cluttered lately with the children's clothes, toys, books, and now the posters.

Stephanie thanked Alfred for the chair he pulled out for her and helped herself to some toast and jam. "Good. Go have a normal grown-up's night out soon, I want to babysit again without missing patrol."

After breakfast, Bruce paid Stephanie and walked her out to her car with the boys, who all hugged her goodbye without prompting. Then, since they were all outside with Titus anyway, they took a walk around the grounds. Bruce matched the little ones' pace, allowing them to frolic and explore mostly at will (he did have to stop Peter from poking at an ant hill). Now that he was watching for it, he noticed when Jack would occasionally slip out his phone, snap a photo, then squirrel the device away again as if it was a secret.

"Jack, would you like me to take a picture of all three of you together?" The little boy didn't have any photos of himself, other than isolated body parts.

Jack eyed him consideringly. Finally he shook his head, but did consent to take a picture of the rest of them. Peter hung onto Titus and playfully bared his teeth; Bruce tried not to look awkward; John flung out his arms and smiled a sunshiney, fangy smile as he tipped into an almost 90-degree sideways angle. Jack lowered the phone to look at the resulting photo and chirred in satisfaction.

When they returned to the house, Bruce led the children to what had, merely an hour before, simply been a guest bedroom. Alfred was in the closet, hanging the boys' clothes on organized racks. The curtains were open, and a little pile of name labels was on the desk, waiting for Alfred to affix them to the various storage compartments that had been assigned to each child.

"Boys," Bruce said, "this is your new room."

They looked around at it, then at him, their expressions inscrutable.

"You might still sleep in my room for the time being, I'm not sure yet; but during the daytime, if you want to be alone or feel upset or want to take a nap, you can come to this room and rest, because it's yours. Let me know if you truly do want a room of your own, I just assumed that you'd like to start out sharing between the three of you." When they still showed no reaction, either positive or negative, Bruce continued a little awkwardly, "Let's move the rest of your belongings."

The children grew more animated as they helped Bruce and Alfred carry things and saw that places were made for each item. Toys went into the toyboxes; books went on the bookshelf; toiletries went in the bathroom; the collages they had made with Stephanie were hung on the walls. Bruce got them to choose their favorite pictures from Jack's phone and printed them onto proper photographic paper, which Alfred then framed and put on display.

As the children saw the room become more and more their own, their excitement grew until they were running around, exclaiming in a mixture of languages and demanding that Bruce or Alfred make whatever adjustments they couldn't make themselves. John was the one who discovered how fun the bed was to jump on, which Bruce hastily put a stop to.

He cast about for a distraction. "Look, here are the art supplies. Why don't you draw some pictures? We can put those on display, too." As the boys were busily coloring, Bruce's phone chimed softly with a notification. A few minutes later, when he noticed the visitor peering around the door jamb, he got the children's attention and pointed.

They all froze, staring at the newcomer like he was a ghost. He smiled and said quietly, "Hey, baby birds." Then he laughed and stepped into the room to catch John, who flung himself into Dick's arms and clung like an infant bat.

Jack grabbed a bunch of books and slammed them to the ground a few feet away. He sat down with his back to Dick and PICKED UP the book on top, wrenched it open, and LOOKED at the page, starting to babble a loud, not-quite-intelligible stream of sound as if he was reading aloud, making it quite clear that he had better things to do than deign to notice Dick.

Peter, meanwhile, was raging. _"YOU! Bad you, I hate it!"_ he screamed in a wild hodgepodge of languages. _"I am SO ANGRY you left us for SO LONG you bad Dick I hate you so sad and angry you WENT AWAY! You do not go away, that is a bad thing, I am SO MAD AT YOU!"_ Then he plopped down by the books and joined in with Jack's Deeply Offended Cat impression.

Dick looked at the boys who were so pointedly ignoring him. "I am being punished," he remarked. With one arm still around John, he reached into his bag for the gift he'd brought the boys from Blüdhaven.

Peter and Jack jerked their heads up when delicate orbs began drifting past them. They stared, mesmerized. Jack twitched as he stopped himself from impulsively reaching out.

Peter was the one who caved first. He shrieked in delight when the orb he caught disappeared in a silent, damp burst. Then he was up, chasing bubbles like a puppy seeing his first squirrel. Jack held out a little longer, knowing he was being bribed, but finally gave in and stood up, spreading his arms with his eyes full of wonder. Not all the bubbles popped immediately on contact; some gently came to rest on his hair, looking like a crown on a fairy prince.

Dick paused. "Johnny, look at the bubbles," he murmured. The boy refused to take his face out of Dick's shirt, and now the younger two were complaining at the lack of bubble replenishment, so Dick went back to dipping the wand into the solution.

Alfred had left to start preparing lunch. Bruce sat at the desk, discreetly filming. Peter and Jack looked so _happy_ , it nearly brought tears to his eyes. _'I want them to smile like this all the time. I don't want them to ever be afraid or in pain again.'_ He knew it wasn't possible, but it seemed so unfair that they had already experienced more than a lifetime's worth of pain and fear when they were still so young. _'I'm going to do a better job with them than I did with the others. I will never make them feel belittled or unloved.'_

John finally turned his head a little to peek out at the bubbles. He watched his younger brothers playing with them for a long time. At last, still clinging to Dick with one hand, he reached out the other, and a bubble came to rest on his palm for a moment before vanishing with a silent pop. "Aren't they pretty, Johnny?" The boy cooed in response.

Dick finally called an end to the game and screwed the lid back on. "We can play with them again later. How've you kiddos been? What's up with the face paint, and the nail sparklies?" he laughed, gently inspecting John's fingers. "Looks like you guys had fun while I was gone."

 _"DO NOT LEAVE!"_

"Aww, Peter. I promise I'll play with you lots today and tomorrow, all right?" He pointed at the wall. "Did you make that?"

"...Yysss," Peter hedged.

"It's _awesome_ , buddy!"

"Stephanie's idea," Bruce spoke up. "She took care of the boys last night while I was out with Damian."

"You guys did fantastic! Heh, you have good taste, Johnny. Making posters, talking better, you've even got your own room now; you guys are growing~!" They looked better physically, as well, than when Dick had seen them last. With the exception of his fangs, hair color, and scars, Jack now looked like any other healthy six-year-old. Peter was the same, though, like John, with ears that had refused to round out any further and retained an elfin shape. John, although more fair-skinned than his counterpart, was at least back in the natural range of human pigmentation. The movement and postures of all three children were more human and less birdlike than before.

Dick traced the domino scars on John's face. "I wonder if this'll make Nightwing easier to recognize when he grows up and looks more like me."

"We'll have a skin restoration procedure done before it gets to that point. First, though, I need to get them used to...being safe in public," Bruce said, not wanting to set off the children by explicitly mentioning seatbelts, "so that they can leave the manor when necessary."

"They've never left the manor?"

"Just once, and it...did not go well. We're working on it."

By now, the children had all clustered around Dick and were hugging him tightly. He absently patted shoulders and ruffled hair as he talked to Bruce, but then Peter let out a choked sob, and Dick looked down to find that all three of his smallest brothers were crying. "Oh...I'm here, I'm here, baby birds...ssshhh, everything's okay..."

Then Bruce embraced him, arms encircling both him and the children he held. "I missed you, too," Bruce whispered.

"Dang it, now you're making _me_ cry!"

 _TBC_


	20. Chapter 10, Part 1

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 10.1 (rough draft 2)**

Damian woke up at about 1:00 in the afternoon and ate 'breakfast' while reading some Justice League reports he technically wasn't supposed to have access to. Then he went outside to run through some exercises, at which point he discovered that his eldest brother had returned to the manor. "Richard!"

"Dami~!"

"How come no one told me you were here?!"

"You were sleeping! Don't I get a hug?"

Damian wanted to complain at him some more, but chances were that the longer he held off on greeting his brother, the more certain it was that the not-Robin creatures would steal Richard's attention away. So, with great dignity, Damian hopped over the terrace wall, walked into Dick's outspread arms, and allowed himself to be embraced.

"Mmmm, good to see you, kiddo. I hear you're Batman now!"

"Yes, and we could really use Nightwing's help _here_."

"Yeah, but Blüdhaven really needs help, too, especially now that it's full of desperate Gothamites, and it doesn't have any other Bats. Just me." Peter came up and tugged on Dick's shirt. "What's up, bud?" The boy set a live caterpillar in his hand. The creature reared up for a moment in confusion, then started inching along Dick's thumb. "Aww, thanks!"

"Why are you thanking him for a larva?" Damian asked in exasperation.

"Because he thinks it's interesting enough to share with someone he likes, and I'm the one he chose to share it with, so it's like saying 'I love you.'"

"You'd interpret the most trivial gesture as 'I love you' if you could."

Now John was trying to get Dick's attention. "You need something, Johnny?"

 _"I love you!"_

"Ooh, way to be direct! I love you, too!"

Damian facepalmed, trying to ignore the way Small Drake was hiding in the bushes, thinking he was being stealthy as he photographed the group of them.

"Did you come out here for something in particular, Dami?" Dick asked, taking pity on him.

"I _was_ going to practice my kata, but I suppose I'll have to do it indoors now."

"You don't _have_ to. This is your backyard, too."

"No, I mean the children become violent when they witness violence. They attacked Thomas yesterday when he was sparring with Father."

Dick looked at the boys. Peter wasn't paying attention, since he'd taken the caterpillar back and was now watching it make its way across his fingers, but John cringed away from Dick and said, _"Bad me._ Ha ha ha ha ha."

"...Show me what you're working on," Dick finally said to Damian, "but go slow enough that the kids won't get triggered."

"What's the point of that?!"

"Reprogramming, hopefully. Ease them into it so they don't register it as combat until they're able to consciously control it. You're the best one to teach them."

Damian was taken aback. "N...No, I'm not."

Dick smiled. "You're their big brother, aren't you? They'll learn from you whether you teach them on purpose or not."

Damian shifted uncomfortably. "They don't like me, though. And I don't like them."

"You're still brothers, whether you like each other or not." Dick turned to John. "Johnny, do you like Damian?"

 _"Bossy."_

Damian scowled.

"Yeah, he can be," Dick chuckled. "He's nice, though, behind the bossy."

And John, to Damian's surprise, signed, _"Yes."_

"See?"

John looked at Damian. _"Teach me."_

Damian fidgeted, trying not to look at Dick, who had lit up with barely contained squee. "Fine. _Fine_. I'll teach you, but no backtalk or shirking!"

John smiled. _"Bossy~"_

o.o.o.o.o

When Bruce came in search of his sons, he immediately halted and backed out of sight again, not wanting his presence to ruin their bonding. He watched, a little awed, as Damian led Dick and their youngest brothers through a kata, so slowly and gracefully that it looked more like a dance than martial arts. _'We might even be able to teach them to fight like human beings someday.'_ Bruce caught himself. _'To defend themselves. Not fight.'_ He had enough soldiers in his 'child army,' as Jason called it.

He watched for longer than he'd meant to, then crept away again to leave them to it. When he tried again later, Duke had joined them, and Dick was teaching them all how to sing in ASL, an old pastime of his from when Dick had been practicing to master the language as a teenager.

To Bruce inside the house, the music from Dick's phone was nothing more than a faint pulse of sound, but his sons' hands, faces, and bodies were bursting with expression: _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]...!"_

Bruce retreated again. His boys were happy, and he wanted them to stay that way for as long as possible, so the best thing for him to do was keep out of it.

At one point, he heard them come back into the house to play and watch a movie or something, but he was in his office working on WE business and didn't actually see the boys until dinner. Bruce got the Robins' attention before they could start requesting morsels. "John, Peter, Jack, we're going to try something different tonight." Alfred had been very patient, but his hints over the past couple of days had been getting less subtle, and honestly, the children's lack of table manners had been bothering Bruce as well.

The Robins looked at him apprehensively.

"This time, you don't have to ask for your food, you can have as much as you want whenever you want."

They shifted warily, and Peter hissed.

"However, you are not allowed to use your hands to pick up food. You have to use utensils like the rest of us do."

Damian snorted in amusement, and Duke muttered "Oh boy" as if he could already see a disaster playing out in his mind's eye.

Bruce didn't quite trust the children with sharp things yet, but Alfred had produced some soft baby utensils that would be safe for them to use instead. The boys stared at their empty plates and the alien objects resting beside them. _"...Please give me carrots,"_ John signed tentatively. His younger brothers watched to see what would happen.

Bruce picked up the serving bowl of roasted carrots and scooped out as much as he would have if any of his older children had asked. "Is that enough, or do you want more?"

John stared with wide eyes and didn't answer.

Bruce set the bowl down. "Now you can eat it, but _do not use your hands_. Use your utensils."

"..." John's fingers crept toward the orange bounty on his plate.

"No hands."

The fingers retreated.

"Johnny," Dick called softly, and scooped up a bite of food with his spoon slowly enough that the children could see how he did it.

John finally picked up his spoon and slid it under the mass of carrots, but he couldn't keep his hold, and the spoon dropped from his grasp.

"Try it with two hands," Tim suggested, demonstrating.

John wrapped both sets of fingers around the handle of his spoon and dug the head into the carrots. When he lifted, the carrots tumbled out, so when the tried the second time, he didn't dare raise the spoon again. Instead, he dragged it across the plate, lowering his head in concentration, and pushed the food into his mouth like a bulldozer bringing a load to its destination. Damian snickered; Duke kicked him.

Bruce tried working with the children hand over hand, accompanied by copious encouragement and praise from Dick, until they were able to get food into their mouths without touching it. It was still slow, painful-looking, messy, and frustrating, even when Jack got the idea to use both of his utensils at once.

After Peter's first failed attempt, he threw the spoon across the table and reached directly for a chunk of fish; Bruce pulled the plate away before he could grasp it. Peter shrieked angrily and reared up to grab it back; Bruce immediately stood and loomed over him. For a minute, they faced off like two wolves challenging each other for dominance. Then Peter slowly sank back into his chair, growling sulkily. Bruce gave him a new utensil and slid his plate back in front of him.

They kept at it for a little longer, until John looked like he was about to cry, Peter like he was about to throw a tantrum, and Jack like he was about to just give up and go hungry. "Bruce," Dick murmured.

"One more minute," Bruce said. "Try for one more minute, boys, and then we can go back to asking and hands like we did before."

At the sight of the timer, John sniffled and rallied, making one last brave attempt. Peter practically attacked his food as if he thought that increasing his efforts would make the seconds pass faster. Jack slo-o-o-o-owly fiddled with his spoon, making a show of trying again but obviously stalling for time until he wouldn't have to anymore.

The instant the timer hit zero, all three boys flung their utensils away and demanded hotly, _"PLEASE GIVE ME MASHED POTATOES / FISH / GREEN BEANS!"_ "GGEE BBEE PPEES!" Jack added, too fed up to even try to enunciate.

"One at a time, boys."

o.o.o.o.o

The rest of the family's bathrooms weren't as ridiculously huge as the one in the master suite, but they were still large enough for two men and three children to move around in without feeling too crowded. Bruce and Dick worked together to fill the bathtub with warm water and direct the boys to put their dirty clothes in the laundry hamper rather than just tossing them on the floor. "I feel like a hypocrite," Dick chuckled, "but at least at my apartment, I'm the one who has to pick them up again and wash them."

Bruce was trying to convince Peter to take a shower rather than a bath. "You can't go around with nail polish on your face forever, Peter. Either you let me scrub it off now, or you get in the-" Dick's grinning and gesturing had gotten too distracting. "What?"

Then he registered it, the impatient little voice calling again, "Ddaddy!" He turned to find Jack on the other side of the bathroom, leaning out of the shower door and waving his shirt at Bruce. "Ddaddy, ccome hhere."

Bruce obeyed in a daze. No one had ever deliberately and unironically called him 'Daddy' before. He tried to pull himself together as Jack piled dirty clothes into his arms. "Jack...you're going to take a shower instead of a bath?"

Apparently the boy preferred it in general, not just for privacy when females were present. "Yy _e_ ss." Naked now, he reached up and made grabby hands.

"Ask with words."

 _"Please give me water."_

After dumping Jack's clothes into the hamper, Bruce unhooked the showerhead and handed it to the child, who knew now to start by turning it away from him. Bruce turned on the water, then decided to teach the boy how to adjust the temperature himself. "Look, Jack. This direction makes the water more hot, this direction makes it more cold. I'll mark it for you later. If you take this handle and pull it, just a little bit at a time..."

Once Jack had the hang of it, Bruce left him to finish bathing by himself. He turned to the bathtub, where the older children were play-fighting with bath toys and reluctantly making progress on washing themselves every time Dick prompted. "Peter," Bruce said, "you can stay in there until Jack's finished, but then you'll need to get out and move to the shower." Since Dick was occupying the chair, Bruce lowered the toilet seat lid and sat on top of it, then cautiously let himself bask. _'Daddy.'_

Dick grinned at him again. "I am so happy right now, you have no idea."

"John, no splashing," Bruce called evasively.

"They're _so much better_ than they were last time I was here," Dick went on. He patted Bruce's shoulder. "I'm really proud of you, Dad."

"Hn."

o.o.o.o.o

Bruce had decided to see how the boys handled sleeping by themselves in their own room, so once they were ready for bed, he took the Bat Baby Monitor and left, knowing they'd want their favorite brother to be the one to tuck them in. He turned out the overhead light, leaving the room illuminated only by a lamp beside the bed.

In addition to the bubbles, Dick had brought another gift for the children from Blüdhaven. "Hey guys, I know that bats aren't your favorite thing in the world, but Stellaluna's a _cute_ bat, see?" John touched the big round eyes of the young bat on the book's cover. "And this book even has three baby birds in it, too! And an evil owl, and interspecies adoption. This is, like, the story of my life."

He cleared his throat and started to read. " _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_..."

When he had finished the book, which took a while because the children interrupted with more outbursts, questions, and exclamations of surprise or anger or approval than they did with other books, they begged him to read it again, and this time nestled quietly against him to listen. He reached the end again, picked up _Peter Pan_ to read a few pages from, then turned off the lamp and started to sing.

Peter immediately leaped out of bed and ran to a far corner, where he hunkered down with his ears covered, but John and Jack closed their eyes and snuggled even closer, clutching stuffed animals. Since they didn't seem bothered by their brother's retreat, Dick uncertainly resumed singing. _"..._ _ _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_..."_

When they were asleep, he extricated himself and made his way over to where Peter was sulkily curled up with his hands still over his ears.

 _"What's wrong?"_ Dick signed.

 _"Do not sing!"_

 _"I won't. I stopped. Are you mad at me?"_

Peter looked over at the bed. _"Brothers safe?"_

 _"Yes. You sleep, too."_

 _"You guard?"_

Dick couldn't break the boy's trust by saying he would and then slipping away once Peter was asleep. _"...For a little while. Then I will leave - I have work to do."_

Peter frowned. _"You leave, bad you. I guard. Sing daytime, not nighttime."_

Dick led him over to the bed and tried to tuck him in, but Peter stayed upright.

 _"You're safe,"_ Dick assured him. _"No one will hurt you if you sleep."_

 _"Protect Brother sleep, Trick Brother sleep. I guard."_

Dick looked sad. _"Good night. I love you."_

 _"Yes. Good."_

Dick kissed him and left.

 _TBC_


	21. Chapter 10, Part 2

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 10.2 (rough draft 2)**

Duke's 'Dad night' request had been for Bruce to accompany him and his friends to laser tag and pizza (in Blüdhaven, since the only family-friendly entertainment establishment that had so far re-opened in Gotham was a half-rebuilt movie theater).

On the way home, they stopped a couple of minor crimes and then brought some snacks down to the Batcave to relieve Alfred from tech support duty. They spent a few quiet hours occasionally looking up things for the Bats in the field in between keeping an eye on the Robin Monitor and watching the movie queue Duke had put on. Bruce felt strange acting as support rather than an active agent, but role reversals were starting to become his new normal.

 _"Quiet night,"_ Orphan finally said to the team. _"Go sleep, all. Batman, me, enough."_

 _"You sure, Orphan?"_ Nightwing asked.

 _"I have other things I can be doing,"_ Red Robin said. _"If Orphan and Batboy keep monitoring-"_

 _"BatMAN."_

Red Robin continued as if he hadn't even heard Batman's indignant correction. _"-then I'm going to head over to-"_

 _"No,"_ Orphan cut in. _"Red Robin_ _most_ _."_

"You do have further responsibilities in the morning, Red Robin," Bruce pointed out.

 _"All you,"_ Orphan agreed, _"work, birds. Batman, me... ... Don't know word."_

"Unattached," Duke supplied. "You two can sleep all day tomorrow; the rest can't."

 _"Un-a-ttached,"_ Orphan repeated thoughtfully.

 _"Got it,"_ Nightwing said. _"B, I'll grab Red Robin and then start heading back."_

 _"If you can_ _find_ _me!"_ Red Robin said indignantly, then yelped. There was the sound of a scuffle.

"Red Robin?!" Bruce said urgently.

"Bruce, the trackers," Duke said, pointing to the screen. Bruce saw the cluster of colored dots and relaxed.

 _"Found him,"_ Orphan said smugly.

Batman's voice was even more smug, drowning out whatever protests Red Robin was making in the background. _"Come pick him up from our location, Nightwing."_

 _"On my way~"_

Perhaps it was just as well that Tim seemed to have lost (or been relieved of) his comm - his shouting in the background sounded furious.

"I'm going to bed as soon as Nightwing and Red Robin get back," Bruce said, "but Batman, Orphan, don't hesitate to sound the alarm if an emergency crops up later."

 _"We can handle it, Fath- Agent B."_

Bruce leaned back in his chair and glanced at Duke, who looked amused at the usual Bat Family antics but also tired. "You can head up to bed now, if you want."

"Maybe in a minute." Duke yawned, then smiled at his mentor. "Tonight was fun. Thanks, Bruce."

"I enjoyed spending time with you, too."

Soon after Duke left the cave, Nightwing returned with an unconscious Red Robin, whom he carried to the shower area. He set his younger brother on the floor, propping him against the wall, and started to strip him out of his uniform.

"Did you drug him?" Bruce demanded. Although he did approve of the plan to get the workaholic Tim home at a reasonable time (for a Bat), knocking him out was going too far.

"We didn't, actually! Poor baby's exhausted; _look_ at him. He fell asleep before we were halfway home." Dick smiled affectionately. When Bruce moved to take over, Dick backed away and started peeling off his own suit.

Bruce tossed the Red Robin outfit aside and stood up with Tim's arm over his neck. He turned on a stream of warm water and eased the young man into it, which was when Tim came fully awake. "Mmmn...Bruce...?" He looked around blearily. "Damn it."

"He liiives!" Dick cheered.

"Shut up, Dick," Tim mumbled, still resting at least half his weight against his father. "Lemme go, Bruce."

"Can you stand on your own?" Bruce asked skeptically.

" _Yes_ ," Tim groused, but paused for a long time before cautiously straightening. Then he just stood there. Dick finished showering and started to dry his hair. Bruce changed out of his wet clothes into dry pajamas. He looked at his son, shook his head, got a large towel, and wrapped Tim in it after shutting off the water. "...Tim," he said after a minute.

"Hmmm?" Tim blinked, then scrunched his face in annoyance as he clutched the towel closer around himself. "'M not Jack. Don't baby me."

"All right," Bruce said, hiding his amusement. Dealing with Tim when he was this tired felt exactly like looking after the young man's six-year-old counterpart. "Should I wait for you in the cave, then?"

"..."

After a moment, Bruce dried off Tim's hair, replaced the towel around his shoulders with a bathrobe, then took the dozing teen's hand and gently led him out to the cave.

Dick, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, was slumped in the chair by the Batcomputer, slowly spinning around and around as he waited for the data transfers from his and Tim's masks to complete.

"Are you cold?" Bruce asked.

"Not enough to get up and find clothes," Dick drawled wearily.

Bruce left Tim standing there, went to get another bathrobe, came back out, then dropped the robe and raced to catch Tim before the teen finished collapsing. Tim blinked up at the ceiling, finding himself half-lying in Bruce's arms. "What are you _doing_?"

"Taking you to bed," Bruce said, keeping hold on Tim's shoulders as he dipped to sweep up his legs.

"I said don't baby me!" Tim cried, kicking once before abruptly stopping as if he realized how childish it looked. He leaned over Bruce's shoulder, reaching for the computer. "I got reports...!"

"Dick's taking care of the data transfers. You can report in more detail in the morning."

There was no response. Tim had fallen asleep yet again, his head and arm still slumped over Bruce's shoulder. Bruce readjusted him more comfortably, then looked up to find that the screen was displaying two status bars at 100%. "Dick?"

"Huuuuhhh?" Dick mumbled, half-asleep in the chair.

"Leave the rest for the morning. Let's go to bed - I'd help you up, but my hands are full."

"'ll jus' sleep here..."

"You'll regret it when you get a crick in your neck and come down with a cold."

Dick dragged himself out of the chair and started trudging upstairs after Bruce, yawning. As Bruce carried Tim to his room and laid him down, Dick crawled under the covers on the other side of the bed. "Are you going to sleep in here?"

"Tired," Dick mumbled.

"I doubt Tim will object, but go brush your teeth first. There's still blood on them from that hit you took earlier."

"Don't wannaaaaa," Dick whined, as if he was eight years old again.

"I'll bring your toothbrush, and some clothes."

"Nnnnnnnnnnuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh."

" _Sshh_ , don't wake him up."

"Alien inv'sion couldn' wake 'im up righ' now," Dick slurred, already drifting off. Bruce went to get his things, came back and prodded him awake again, bundled him into the bathroom, and stood over him to make sure he brushed his teeth. Just like with Tim, he felt exactly like he was dealing with his son's nine-year-old counterpart rather than an alleged full-grown adult. "Do you slack off like this in Blüdhaven, too?"

"Leave me alone, _Mom_ ," Dick groaned through a mouthful of toothpaste. He did, however, give Bruce a hug before collapsing back into bed. Bruce made sure he was asleep before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, then to Tim's. Then he went to his own room, brushed his teeth so as not to be a hypocrite, checked the Robin Monitor one last time, then lay down and closed his eyes.

Tired as he was, he had trouble sleeping. He woke up several times within the space of half an hour. The third time he did, automatically checking the monitor, he shot upright: John, Peter, and Jack were gone. _'That's it,'_ he thought as he scrambled out of bed, _'they're going back to sleeping in my room.'_ Where was his phone? _'Trackers, trackers, where are their trackers...'_

All three dots were clustered in the kitchen, and Bruce exhaled in relief that the children were still in the house. He strode to the kitchen and snapped on the lights.

The children stared at him through the open pantry door, wide-eyed, their hands and mouths filled with cookies. As Bruce approached, the older two hastily swallowed what they'd eaten and cringed down into the far corners of the pantry. Jack had simply looked sheepish at first, but when he saw how afraid his brothers were, he grew frightened as well and backed away. _"Angry?"_

"No." Bruce crouched down so he didn't tower over them so much. "I'm not angry, you're not in trouble, and none of you are going to be punished. You'll skip dessert next time, because you had your sweets now instead, but you're not in trouble." He held out his hand. "Jack, come here."

 _"Don't hurt me."_

"I won't."

Jack took a step forward, but John whistled fearfully and seized his ankle.

Bruce tried backing out of the doorway so they wouldn't feel so cornered. "John, Peter, are you still hungry? You can't have anymore cookies, but I can give you something else to eat, if you'd like."

They stared at him.

 _"Angry?"_ Jack asked again, uncertainly.

"No. Jack, come here. I won't hurt you. I'm not angry."

The child hesitated, then tugged his foot free of John, who whimpered and covered his head. Bruce did not reach out, waiting patiently until Jack had edged all the way up to him before he put his arms around the boy and lifted him up onto his hip. "Did you like those cookies?" he murmured.

"Yy _e_ sss," Jack whispered back.

"Alfred makes good ones. But you can only have them after dinner, do you understand? Not in the middle of the night."

"Ssorry, Ddaddy."

"It's all right. You'll do better next time." Jack shyly hid his face against the side of Bruce's neck. Bruce glanced toward the pantry and reached out again. "John. Peter. Come here, please."

After a long pause, Peter edged out of the pantry and circled around the kitchen, keeping a healthy distance between himself and Bruce. _"Bad boys! You angry!"_

"No. I'm not angry, and you are good boys. I want you to come with me so that I can take you back to bed. You're going to go back to sleeping in my room."

 _"Give me Trick Brother."_

"No. I'm happy holding him, and he's happy to be held. He is safe. You don't need to protect him from me."

Jack turned his head to share a long, inscrutable look with his brother.

John crept out of the pantry. _"Angry?"_

"No. Come here, John. I won't hurt you."

 _"Tie us, hit us?"_

"No, never. Never, John."

 _"Sorry!"_

"It's all right. You're not in trouble."

John approached slowly and took hold of Jack's foot instead of Bruce's hand. He shuffled after when Bruce started heading back to the family's wing, and Peter trailed behind. "We're going to sleep in my room," Bruce said again. "You will keep your bedroom during the daytime, but at night, you're going to sleep in my room for a little longer, so I can make sure you're safe."

As soon as he opened the door, John and Peter rushed to their nest that was still in the corner and hid under the blankets at the farthest end. Jack squirmed to be put down, then trotted over as well, climbed onto the mattress, and laid himself over his brothers.

"I'll be right back." Bruce fetched some books and toys and Jack's phone from their room, so that they could stay quietly occupied during 'guard duty' or if they rose for the day earlier than he did. He read _Green Eggs and Ham_ to them, which seemed to calm the older boys a bit. They eventually emerged from the blankets so they could see the pictures. "All right. I'm going to go back to bed now. Try to sleep."

 _"Good night,"_ Jack signed.

"Good night." Bruce hesitated, then remembered what he had resolved. "I...I love you."

 _"Love you,"_ Jack replied, as his brothers huddled warily behind him.

 _TBC_

A/N: I'm not really sure how the Bats work overall - there are so dang many of them now, and some that I don't know much about, and I can't recall ever seeing all of them work together on a regular basis. I'm going to assume that they work in teams or as individuals, that the core/primary team is Bruce, Dick (when he's in Gotham), Tim, Damian, and (in this fic) Cass, and that individuals from different teams might or might not interact with each other on any given night.


	22. Chapter 11, Part 1

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 11.1 (rough draft 2)**

 _Joker had them, his children bound and helpless and screaming as the crowbar struck them again and again; their blood was streaming down to pool at his feet but he couldn't lift a finger to rescue them, he would break Joker's_ _neck_ _once he was free but by the time he escaped the leather straps it would be too late, they'd be dead, their cries were already growing fainter-_

Bruce woke with a choked gasp, his skin clammy with sweat. Just a nightmare, just a nightmare, his children were alive and safe and _fine_ , but he was still trapped in restraints-

Not tied down like he thought he was. He'd dreamed of being restrained because John was perched heavily on his chest; the other two children had spread out his arms and were sitting on them. _"Seatbelts?"_ John and Peter were already demanding. _"Seatbelts? Hurt us tie us? Bad!"_

Bruce was still trying to recover from the nightmare. Jack reached to touch the tears on his face. "Ddaddy ssad?"

"Get off me," Bruce wheezed.

"SSEATTTBBE'TTT?" John demanded.

"Not right now. Breakfast first."

John leaned close to scrutinize him.

Bruce couldn't stand being held down a moment longer. He shifted, trying to dislodge the boys without hurting them. Jack soon tumbled aside, and when the older boys realized he was getting the upper hand, they fled to their nest.

Bruce ignored them, stalking into the bathroom. Then he wished he'd locked the door, because all three Robins came filing in and gathered around to stare. It was very disconcerting. "Don't _watch_ people when they're using the toilet."

 _"Seatbelts?"_ John demanded again.

"Not NOW."

He had to shoo them out so he could take a quick shower in peace, but then he fretted the whole time about what they might be getting up to when left to their own devices. He'd been right to worry - when he opened the bathroom door afterward, he found Peter wasting his best cologne and Jack twittering bossily up at John, who was perched on _top_ of the bed canopy so he could take pictures of the room with Jack's phone.

By the time Bruce had confiscated the cologne and gotten John down, both he and the child were covered with dust. Alfred did a good job cleaning the manor, but he was an extremely busy man and some things, like the top side of the bed canopy, just weren't worth being thorough about. "For God's sake..." And now Jack was screeching angrily about how blurry the new photos were. "Boys, stay _put_ for _ten minutes_ , and don't touch anything that isn't yours."

He pulled the frightened, resisting John into the bathroom to sponge the dust off of him, and the younger children hurried after. _"Don't hurt Protect Brother!"_

"I'm not hurting him," Bruce said in exasperation. "It's only water, look." He had to give wetted washcloths to both Peter and Jack for them to inspect before they let him wipe down John. Then all three children watched avidly as Bruce brushed his teeth and shaved and got dressed and combed his hair. When he was ready for the day, he exhaled deeply and turned to survey the boys, putting his hands on his hips.

They shifted uneasily. _"...Seatbelts?"_

"Not right now. Let's go to your room."

It took longer than usual to get them dressed and brushed. They were anxious and finicky and kept shying away from him. _"Seatbelts?"_ they asked over and over again.

"Not right now," he answered over and over again, trying to keep his temper. "Breakfast first."

They galloped ahead of him to the kitchen, and Bruce entered the room to find them all pushing chairs right next to Dick's. Dick, munching on cereal as he worked on his tablet, tapped the screen a few more times and then raised his hand with a flourish. "Aaaand patrol report _done_! Morning, Bruce! Morning, baby birds~!"

"D'kk D'kk D'kk," Peter said, gripping two fistfuls of his big brother's tank top.

 _"He seatbelt no seatbelt help scared pull me water,"_ John told Dick anxiously, as Jack announced to the room in general, "I hhungee!"

Bruce sat heavily in his chair with a groan. The day was already off to a bad start, and he was _tired_. "Good morning, Duke. Good morning, Alfred."

"Good morning, sir," Alfred called back from the stove.

Duke made an amiable gesture of acknowledgement. "'Sup, Bruce."

Bruce pulled the bowl of eggs off the warming pad it was sitting on. "Where's Tim?" he asked as he served himself.

"Still sleeping," Dick said.

"Good." At least one thing had gone right.

"Has he taken _any_ days off since the Batpocalypse?"

"No."

"Holy workaholic, Batman. I'm glad Cass sent him home early last night." Dick and Bruce settled into the routine of feeding the children. After a few bites of dry cereal, however, John pushed his plate away and climbed into Dick's lap for an octopus hug. "Awww, Johnny. What's wrong?"

"He can eat later if he wants to," Bruce said. He sighed, then started speaking in Spanish. _"Listen, Dick. We took a break yesterday because John's reaction was so extreme, but we're starting seatbelt training again today, and it's not going to be pleasant. Please keep your distance."_

Dick frowned. _"What do you mean, 'not pleasant'?"_ he asked, also in Spanish. The children stared at them curiously, cocking their heads at the sound of the unfamiliar language.

 _"The seatbelts remind them too much of whatever restraints they were subjected to during their captivity. Nothing I do or say convinces them that it's not harmful, so we're having to just power through."_ Bruce gave some eggs to Peter in response to the boy's request. _"I don't care how much they scream or cry or beg, I don't want you rescuing them."_

"Bruce..."

 _"It's not for long."_ He put part of a biscuit on Jack's plate. _"I haven't even buckled them in yet, it's a struggle just to keep them in the car for one minute. As soon as they're finished, feel free to comfort them and vilify me as much as you want, but don't come near us until I give the word."_

Dick silently tightened his embrace around John.

 _"I_ _have_ _to, Dick."_

 _"What if...what if I try it? They trust me-"_

 _"_ _No_ _."_ Bruce couldn't stand the thought of the children's betrayed faces, even in his imagination. _"I need you to be their reward, and someone they can keep feeling completely safe with. I will not jeopardize that."_

"Poor babies," Dick whispered in English, rocking John a little. "Poor baaabies..." He started to hum under his breath, and John relaxed a little.

Bruce waited for the right moment, when the children had calmed down slightly but before they were finished eating. "Dick," Bruce murmured, not looking at him and speaking Spanish again, _"leave."_

"Hmmm, I'm gonna go check on Timmy and Dami," Dick said casually. "Johnny, you want to try some of my cereal? There are _marshmallow_ bits in it, you don't get marshmallows in your regular cereal." He poured some fresh Justice League Blasters into what was left of the milk in his bowl. He spoon-fed John a bite. The boy brightened a little and started fishing bits of cereal out of the bowl. Dick kissed the top of his head and went away.

Bruce waited a little longer, until John's cereal consumption had gone from eager to steady, and the other two boys were showing the first signs of restlessness. Bruce stood up.

 _"Seatbelts?"_ Peter asked instantly.

"Yes." He caught hold of Peter in time, but wasn't fast enough to catch John, who fled like a rabbit. Bruce hesitated, but he couldn't haul the screaming, struggling Peter around the mansion in order to retrieve John... He'd have to do this separately.

 _"I don't want to!"_ Jack signed, backing away.

"I know, Jack, but we have to." He reached for the boy's wrist and managed to get hold of it before Jack could run.

"Nnooo!" Jack wailed, dragging his feet as Bruce started pulling him toward the garage. "Nnnooo, Ddaddy, nnnoooo!"

"I'm sorry, Jack, but we have to."

Jack cried, tugging halfheartedly, but didn't fight much as Bruce locked them in the car with him. _"Why you hurt us?!"_

"I will not hurt you. The seatbelts are to keep you _safe_ , not hurt you. When the timer goes off, you can have ice cream."

Jack stilled. _"Ice cream?"_

"Yes."

Peter raged in all three languages, pounding at the windows and lashing out at Bruce. At first he would immediately recoil, but when he saw that there was no retaliation, he started trying to hit Bruce with more determination.

" _No_. Do not hit." Bruce's arms were raised in defense, his eyes hard and challenging. Peter matched his look for a minute, then retreated, hissing.

A silence fell.

 _"...Ice cream?"_ Jack asked tremulously.

"When the timer goes off."

Jack drew up his legs and hugged his knees, his eyes fixed on the countdown. Peter was pressed into the corner farthest from Bruce, staring. "...[ _chirp-chirp_ ]."

"I have to do this with him next. He ran away, but he still has to practice with seatbelts. He will do this when you are finished."

Peter crept over to Jack and clung to him. They stayed like that until the timer went off, then Bruce opened the door and they burst out, looking around wildly.

"Good job," Bruce said, picking up the cooler that Alfred had left for him. "You finished practicing with seatbelts for today, so here is your reward." He unwrapped a mini ice cream sandwich and held it out. The boys stared at it for a while. Then Jack cautiously took the treat and nibbled at it. He trilled in delight and chomped down the rest of it. Peter snatched his own reward out of Bruce's hand and stuffed it in his mouth.

"All right," Bruce said when they'd finished, "let's go find Dick."

"D'kk! D'kk!"

Dick was in the living room, reading something on his phone. He instantly stopped in order to hug the children when they threw themselves into his arms and started babbling at him about what they'd just endured.

Bruce didn't stay to listen, instead following John's tracker to the high shelf where he'd hidden. The boy screamed in terror when Bruce came for him. "John, I am not going to hurt you. Let's get this over with, and then you can have ice cream." John shrieked and struggled, but went still when Bruce got him into a firm hold. "Nnnooo," he begged as he was carried to the garage. "Nnnoo, ppees, nnoo, nnoo, nnoo...!"

"It will not hurt. It's only for one minute. It will not hurt."

In the car, the boy crawled into a corner and cried for the entire minute, long after the timer had gone off and Bruce had gotten out of the car. John finally lifted his anguished face and asked, _"Why you hurt me?"_

"Am I hurting you right now, John?"

The boy sniffled, then went quiet. Bruce stepped farther aside in an inviting way, but John simply stared at him, not moving. "John. We are finished for today. Come out so you can have your reward and play with Dick."

 _"...You tie me. You hurt me. You hate me."_

"I did not hurt you. I do not hate you. I love you, and I want you to practice so you can be safe."

John finally emerged, slowly and stiffly, keeping his distance. Bruce showed him the cooler. "Now you can pick your reward. Would you like ice cream, chips, or something from the kitchen?" He didn't want the boy getting ill again; something less sweet might be easier on a stomach already unsettled by stress.

After a long moment, John silently pointed at the chips. Bruce opened the bag and handed it over, but John simply clutched it to his chest without eating anything. "Let's go find Dick."

Tears began to spill from the child's eyes again. _"[big chirp-chirp],"_ he said in bird language, _"[big chirp-chirp] loves me, protect me from Master."_

They went to the living room, where Jack backed away and Peter hid behind a couch and John rushed to his older counterpart and latched on. Bruce picked up the bag of chips he'd dropped and handed it to Dick. "This is John's. Don't let the others have any. See if he'll take more breakfast, too; he's barely eaten anything." Then he went to go work in the Batcave, because he needed to be somewhere dark and cold and oppressive for a while.

He spent about an hour finishing one case and making progress on another, things he could do from a chair. Research, hacking, some lab work; sending a few messages and impersonating an assistant's boss in a text chat. Then a small commotion alerted him to the fact that he had company. He looked up to find Dick and Duke at the foot of the stairs, looking patient as the children hid behind them, clinging and staring fearfully out at Bruce.

"What?" Bruce snapped.

"See, this is what he does what he's upset," Dick told his siblings in a voice like a tour guide's. "Buries himself down in the cave to wallow in his own misery and convince himself he's the monster he feels like."

"I'm _working_." Bruce did not appreciate being outed in front of Duke, whose respect he'd been trying very hard to retain. He hadn't made so many mistakes with his newest protégé as he had with the others, and it would be nice to be able to live up to _one_ child's expectations, at least.

John whimpered something into Dick's back. "Aww," Dick replied, "Bruce isn't scary. Come here, let me show you." He tried to move toward Bruce, but the older children held him back.

Jack started shuffling across the cave, pushing Duke in front of him like a human shield. When they stopped, Jack peered out at his father from behind Duke. "Ddaddy mmad?"

"No," Bruce said wearily. He would answer their questions, but he was tired of trying to convince them of things they refused to believe.

"What are you working on?" Duke asked.

They chatted about the case for a bit. Bruce pretended not to notice when Jack finally crept out from behind Duke, sneaked around, and climbed up the back of Bruce's chair. Small arms cautiously encircled his neck. "Ddaaaddy." Bruce patted Jack's arms as he kept talking to Duke. After a moment, the child put a leg over the back of the chair and slithered down into Bruce's lap. Bruce held him, and the boy slowly relaxed.

When Dick started approaching, this time the boys allowed themselves to be dragged along. "How did you find out that the experiments weren't just theoretical?"

"One of the assistants told me." Bruce nodded at the screen.

Dick leaned to read it, then laughed. "He totally thought you were his boss!"

"Not so hard to do. Dr. Granger's writing style was easy to replicate." He finally risked making eye contact with the children. John and Peter were studying him intently.

For a while, no one said anything, then John at last let go of Dick so he could use both hands to sign. _"I don't like seatbelts."_

"I know."

 _"Do not do seatbelts."_

"We're going to practice every day."

 _"No!"_

"Yes."

 _"Bad!"_

Bruce just looked at him.

 _"...Bad Laugh Man?"_ John signed desperately.

"He's dead."

John stared at him for a long time, until Dick gently nudged him toward Bruce. He took another couple of steps, trembling, and at the look on his face, Jack suddenly scrambled away. John raised his hands and pleaded slowly, _"You love me?"_

Bruce couldn't bring himself to say it when he'd be dragging the boy to the garage again every morning for the foreseeable future. When he mutely held out his hands, John climbed right into his lap and clung to him and cried.

At first, they were just ordinary sobs. But then the child's voice rose to a scream, and Bruce didn't know what to do with such devastation except hold John as he howled into Bruce's shoulder. The younger children looked solemn until Dick gently herded them away toward the training area, where he began to teach them some stretching exercises as Duke started working on the other equipment.

John wept like his heart was broken. After a very long time, when he'd finally wound down from wild sobs to sad wails, Bruce started to sing softly, hoping it might soothe him even a fraction as much as Dick's singing did. _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_ John quieted almost at once. A minute later, Bruce's back started to creep as he sensed that he had an audience. He _hated_ singing where anyone could hear, but his son needed the comfort, so he had to keep going. _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_

Jack crawled back into his lap, worked himself under Bruce's arm, and snuggled into him. _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_ John gave a deep sigh and relaxed in exhausted surrender. _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]."_

There was a long pause after the song came to a close. Then Duke's awed voice floated up behind him, making him wince. "Holy crap, Bruce can _sing_?"

"He's Batman, he can do anything," Dick laughed. "I know you hate it, Bruce, but it's good to hear."

Peter circled around to stand in front of the chair. _"I do not like you here."_ He indicated the cave.

Bruce sighed. "I have to work here sometimes. You can go back upstairs and play with Dick."

 _"You come UP, play, light, better."_

Dick came to join him. "Maybe you should take a break, Batman."

So Bruce changed out of his tear-and-snot-soaked shirt into a fresh one, gently cleaned John's face and gave him a cup of water to drink, and then they all (except Duke, who elected to remain downstairs and keep training) trooped up to the house to play a round of _Candy Land: Justice League Edition_.

Dick and the younger two children seemed to enjoy it. John wasn't interested, choosing instead to lie with his head pillowed on Bruce's thigh and simply watch, making soft noises of appreciation whenever Bruce stroked his hair.

 _TBC_

A/N: As anyone who's seen That Episode of _Justice League Unlimited_ knows, Bruce is canonically a good singer. :)


	23. Chapter 11, Part 2

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 11.2 (rough draft 2)**

Sometime after ten o'clock, as Bruce was working on lessons with the children and Dick was napping on the couch, there was a sudden crashing sound and vehement cursing from the family's bedroom wing. Someone went rapidly pounding across the house. Just as Bruce and the children poked their heads out of the living room to look, Tim screamed from the kitchen, "WHY ISN'T THE FUCKING COFFEE MAKER ON?!"

Bruce went in to find his son, dressed very sloppily in a business suit, slamming a tea kettle into the sink. "WHY DIDN'T ANYONE _WAKE_ ME?! I'M LATE FOR FUCKING _WORK_! I MISSED _BOTH_ MY MORNING MEETINGS!"

"Tim, calm down."

Tim rounded on him like an enraged boar. "DON'T TELL ME TO FUCKING _CALM DOWN_! I'VE BEEN WORKING MY ASS OFF FOR _YOUR_ COMPANY AND _YOUR_ CITY AND YOU HAVE THE _FUCKING GALL_ TO TELL ME TO 'CALM DOWN' LIKE IT'S NOT A FUCKING BIG DEAL IF WE SLIP BACK INTO THE HOLE WE _JUST_ CLIMBED OUT OF-!"

"Tim. Tim." Bruce was trying to approach, holding out his hands in a placating way. Tim was pacing as he shouted.

"-SO SMUG WHEN YOU ALL GANG UP ON ME BUT IT'S _MY_ BODY AND _MY_ TIME AND IF I CHOOSE TO WRECK MYSELF SO YOU CAN DOTE ON THOSE DAMN BIRDS 24/7 THEN THAT'S **MY FUCKING BUSINESS** -"

"Tim, I'm going to work. I'm going to work. You can stay home today. I'm going to work."

"-BET YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HALF OF WHAT I-" Tim stumbled. "What?"

"I am going to work today, the rest of the day. Stay home and rest. I've got the company, Dick's got the children, Damian and Duke can take care of any research you need done before patrol tonight. We've got things covered today. You can rest for a few hours; longer than that, if you want."

There was a long pause. Then Tim burst into tears and buried his face in his hands, and leaned heavily into Bruce's cautious embrace.

For two seconds, he just wept in relief, but then his voice rose in a distressed wail. "You can't, you've been out of the loop for so long-"

"You can fill me in by phone and email. Lucius can fill me in. It will be fine," Bruce murmured, stroking his hair. Alfred, drawn by the shouting, was busying himself in the background, shutting off the faucet and pouring excess water out of the tea kettle before setting it on to boil.

"I can't even take a break when I try, I'm just going to start typing again ten minutes after I lie down-"

"That's all right. Do whatever you need to do, as long as you understand that _we've got it covered_ today. There is no rush and no pressure. Rest."

Tim sniffled and tried to stop crying, but it took a while. Bruce looked up at one point to see Dick filming from the entryway, as the children watched with great interest.

Bruce frowned and signed behind Tim's back, _"Don't record him."_

 _"But you both are being precious!"_ Dick mouthed back.

Tim sensed the movements of Bruce's hands. He looked over his shoulder, then sprang out of his father's arms. "What are you _doing_?!"

"It was cute!"

Tim charged at him; Dick fled and the children scattered. The wide-eyed Robins hovered uncertainly in the hall for a moment, then Jack started to trot after his father when Bruce went to get dressed for work. Jack changed direction when he realized that the other birds had chosen to stalk their older brothers instead. They followed at a cautious distance until the chase ended outside, where Dick and Tim wrestled on the lawn.

Both of them abruptly stopped when they sensed that something was wrong. "No!" Dick cried, diving to shield his brother. "No! Stop! We're not fighting!"

Jack came to a halt at once; John staggered to a stop a second later. Peter snarled, his fingers arched stiffly like claws. _"Fight,"_ he screeched in bird language, _"fight, blood, fight, fight...!"_

" _crow_ " John's eyes were half-blank, his mouth stretched in a Joker smile. " _crow crow_ "

Jack stared at the young men, looking like he didn't realize he was keening.

"No no no no no, come back to me, baby birds, come back, it's okay, we were just playing, we love each other, everything's fine! Please don't bite Tim."

"They're gonna _bite_ me?!"

"No, no, they're not, because we're all brothers and we loooove each other." Dick cuddled and nuzzled Tim, who didn't dare push him off.

 _"Safe,"_ Jack cooed uncertainly. _"Safe, safe, flockmates safe. Quiet, calm..."_

John finally looked human again, though devoid of emotion. Peter had stopped screeching and was glaring at his big brothers with clear eyes. " _crow_?"

"Nope, no crow. Come here, Baby Jay."

Dick held out his arms. Peter warily slunk closer, and Tim scrambled away. "Okay, I'm out of here. You can deal with your Joker birds, and I'll go deal with Mr. Thinks-He-Can-Just-Swap-Into-My-Place-Like-It's-Musical-Chairs."

Tim went to change out of his grass-stained suit and then collapsed on a couch in the living room with a tablet, two laptops, his phone and briefcase, and a whole bag full of external storage devices. First, he sent a bunch of emails to Bruce, Lucius, and his secretary, barely noticing that Jack had followed him in and that Alfred was setting a tray full of tea and snacks (but no coffee) on the nearest end table. "Thanks, Alfred," Tim called, only to realize that he'd taken so long to tear himself out of the work haze that Alfred was long gone.

Jack wasn't. The little boy was perched on the couch right next to him, watching intently. It made Tim uncomfortable. He wanted to push the boy to the other end of the couch, but also wanted to avoid getting bitten. Before he could decide, Bruce called and then he forgot. "No, no, we _closed_ on that one yesterday, remember? I sent you the files for the new one eight minutes ago; keep up, Bruce."

Jack was saying something, but Tim couldn't spare the attention to decipher those laborious, halting words. Then something crusty and fluffy and buttery was getting pushed into his mouth. "Mmph! I'm on the _phone_ , Jack, don't _feed_ me," Tim tried to say through a mouthful of bread roll. Jack ignored him, so Tim quickly adjusted to talking or typing in between taking small bites of whatever Jack occasionally pushed at his lips.

When the immediately urgent WE business was finished, Tim exhaled deeply and sat back. He was tempted to just fall asleep right then and there, but there was still more to do.

"Mme, Tt _i_ mm, hhhop'ssscoh, sscocchh?"

"Go play with Dick, I'm busy," Tim said wearily. He shifted until he was fully lying down, leaning back against one of the couch arms with his legs crooked, and dragged over the tablet so he could start on his patrol report from the night before.

"...Ssixx ttime ssixx iiss?"

"Jaaaaaaack," Tim groaned. "I am working. Dick is not working, Dick is playing, so _go play with Dick_."

"I plllay wih, ww _i_ ttt Ttt'mm."

There was a pause as Tim tapped away, wishing he had the energy to sit up again and connect a keyboard so this would go faster. Then he exhaled forcefully and painfully when Jack jabbed him in the stomach.

 _"LOOK AT ME! Talking is hard!"_ Jack sign-yelled at him.

Tim stared. "Jack... I am not the fun brother. I don't like you, I don't want to play with you, and I'm too busy to play even if I did."

Jack rested his chin on Tim's knees and gazed at him with puppy eyes.

"Oh God." Tim dropped his head back on the couch pillows and shut his eyes. "DIIIIICK!" he yelled. "DICK! COME GET YOUR BIRD!"

A small parade of people came romping into the living room. "You called, Timmy~?" Dick asked, flanked by a curious-looking Bird 1 and Bird 2.

"I'm _working_! Take Jack somewhere else to play!"

"Jackie~ Do you want to play with _me_ or with _Tim_?"

 _"He play with me you brothers."_

"Awww, that's sweet, Jackie! But we're also trying to get Tim to sleep, so maybe we should leave him on the couch."

Tim glared.

Jack pouted. _"He couch, I couch,"_ he decided, and plopped down to lean against Tim's legs. Dick laughed at the sight they made.

"Shut up," Tim grumbled. "At least bring some toys to distract him with."

Dick did so. Jack complained and asked for lessons instead, so Dick fetched those, too, then left again with the older children. _"I work, you work,"_ Jack said happily, and propped his clipboard against Tim's knees.

Tim sighed deeply, but at least the kid was being quiet and not pestering him anymore. ...Much. "Ttt _i_ mmy. Tt'mmy! Ggoo'd jjobb? Tt'mmy, _ggooD jjob_?"

"Yes, yes, you did a fantastic job. You're amazing. Keep it up, Jackie," Tim said in a monotone.

"I ggood jjob, Ttiimmy ggood jjob."

After Tim had finished his report, messaged Damian and Duke with what he needed them to do before patrol, and set up an alert so that he'd have time to do it himself if/when they failed to get it done in time or correctly, he finally set aside the tablet, sighed, then just lay there mindlessly for a few minutes. It felt really, really weird to have nothing urgent to work on for the next few hours.

"Ttiimmy?"

"...You ever seen Star Trek, kid?" Tim murmured.

"Ssaw Tte'kk?"

"Bring me that remote and I'll show you." Tim turned on the TV and set up a queue of his default comfort show. The sound of the theme song made him truly relax for the first time since...he couldn't remember.

He woke up from a doze to find Jack perched on the arm of the couch, busily styling his hair with a set of tiny clips Stephanie had given to him. "What are you doing to meeee," Tim mumbled, too tired to stop him.

"Ttiimmy prrre'tty."

"Uuuuggghhh..." Then he fell asleep again, this time for four hours straight. He didn't stir when Jack finished with his hair, took photos and sat admiring his handiwork for a while, then lay down to cuddle with him, or when Dick came by later and gleefully snapped pictures of the two of them napping together.

When Tim finally woke up, he was stiff and alone (except for the cat, who'd taken Jack's place), Star Trek was still playing (though with the volume significantly lowered from what he'd originally set it on), and the morning's tray had been replaced with a new one containing fresh snacks and a bottle of water, both of which Tim sorely needed. He also really needed to pee.

Though he'd felt like crap upon initially awakening, once he started moving around and had some food and water in him, he felt better. Almost _good_.

He checked his phone and spent about half an hour responding to the most urgent messages, then started wandering around the house in search of the rest of the family, carrying Alfred and absently scratching between the animal's ears.

It turned out they were in the Batcave. Damian and Duke were arguing mildly by the computer, working on the assignments Tim had left for them and actually doing a decent job. Dick was encouraging the children through an obstacle course. Alfred jumped out of Tim's arms and trotted over to be coddled by Damian, while the dog rose from his bored sprawl at Damian's feet and came to greet the newcomer. Tim crouched down to pet Titus as he watched the kids' progress.

"Almost, almost, almost!" Dick called, clapping rhythmically. "Come ooon, Peter, you can do it! Awesome job, Johnny! Just two more, Jackie, two more; ooohhh, ONE MORE, Jackie, _you got this_! YAAAAAAAYYYYY, high fives! High fives for all~! _Yes_!"

Jack came trotting over before he'd even finished eating his treat. "Tt _i_ mmy prrre'tty!"

Tim suddenly realized that the little clips were still in his hair. "Agh, crap." He started pulling them out, hoping Damian hadn't seen. Jack gave him a hug and a kiss, then got distracted petting Titus.

Dick wandered over with the other two Robins trailing in his wake. "Had a nice nap?"

"...I did, actually," Tim admitted grudgingly. " _Please_ don't let Damian see the photos."

"What photos?" Dick asked innocently.

Tim gave him a Look.

"What if I give you some blackmail pics of him in exchange?"

"That might work."

Dick looked at them for a minute, then cooed, "Big You and Little You are so dang cute together."

Tim held out his hands. "John, come here."

 _"Hug?"_

"Yeah."

John brightened and bounded into Tim's arms. "Mmm, you're so much cuter than Big You," Tim murmured into his hair.

"Hey!"

Peter came up behind Tim and put his arms around the young man's neck. Tim patted him. "Don't bite me, guys."

 _"Will not bite,"_ Jack assured him.

"Ggoo-duh nneckk," Peter teased, brushing his closed lips against Tim's jugular.

There was a clatter from the vicinity of the Batcomputer. "Drake! I mean, Timothy!" Damian shouted, "Come here and tell this amateur I don't need his help!"

"He's making a _mistake_!" Duke insisted.

"I knew more about hacking when I was six years old than you know about-!"

"I'm not talking about the hacking, I'm talking about the target!"

Tim sighed and got to his feet, shedding Robins. "I'm coming, I'm coming..."

 _TBC_

A/N: I first drafted this chapter before I'd gotten the hang of writing Tim. I was really surprised at how he turned out here, but I did start getting to know him better from this point on.


	24. Chapter 12

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 12 (rough draft 2)**

Bruce came home in the evening feeling wearier after a day at WE than he did after a day of taking care of three high-maintenance young children.

Speaking of which... Bruce had adopted or sired five kids before the apocalypse, but only Dick had ever come running to greet him at the door with a hug, and even Dick had never genuinely called him 'Daddy' except for a couple of times by accident. Bruce had to take a minute to bask again, standing there in the hall with Jack in his arms. John and Peter were giggling as they peeked at him around the corner, and Bruce found that his weariness had mysteriously evaporated.

Still carrying Jack, he patted the older children's heads as he passed, and they trotted after him into the living room where the others were. Tim looked wonderfully refreshed as he chatted with Duke, who was looking up from his book; Dick and Damian were playing a Batman-themed video game.

"Your coat, sir?"

Bruce greeted his butler and finally put down Jack so he could shrug off his jacket. "Thanks, Alfred."

Jack scampered back to the chess board that was sitting on the coffee table in front of Tim, and eagerly reached to make a move.

"You're teaching him chess?" Bruce asked curiously.

"Pawns only for now, but yeah." Tim sounded proud. "I'll work him up to full games eventually."

"Good." Bruce was proud, too, of both of them. ...Maybe he should let them know that. "I'm...proud of you both."

Tim gave him a strange look. "Um...okay." He sounded like he didn't know how to take the compliment, or perhaps what it was even for, but the blush on his cheeks was probably one of pleasure, so that was good.

Now that the last member of the household was home, dinner was served quickly. The protests at once again being made to eat like civilized people were very loud.

Tim winced. "Peter...don't use those words..."

"Oh, you mean the words _you_ taught him this morning?" Dick teased, elbowing him. Tim covered his eyes in embarrassment.

"Boys," Bruce said sternly. "First off, you are not allowed to say those words, Peter, and you'll lose dessert-" Wait, they had already lost tonight's dessert because of sneaking out of their room for cookies. "That is, I'll take away Dog if you say them again." He gestured threateningly at the stuffed animal in Peter's lap.

"FFFU-!"

"NO DOG."

He grabbed for the toy; Peter clutched it hard. They were at a stalemate for a minute until Peter sank back into his chair and glowered. Bruce let go of the dog.

"Secondly, you will try the utensils for five minutes. After five minutes, if you want to use hands and asking again, you may, but you-" The expression on Jack's face was far too crafty. "No, scratch that; you have to take five bites with the utensils."

"Nno!" Jack yelled.

"Five bites, no matter how long or how quickly it takes. _After_ that is when you can use your hands."

Despite the helpfully wide handles, all three boys still had significant difficulty trying to maneuver the extra, unnatural appendage between them and their food. Peter, wielding two spoons, finished first through sheer determination, gripping so far down that he was almost holding the heads, and not caring how little food made it into his mouth as long as he managed to taste _something_.

John went slowly, looking furious that he couldn't get it right, stopping to sign at one point, "Dd'kkk _me spoon Mama Daddy! I DO! Why I can't now?!"_

"You'll...you'll remember, John. When you've had more practice, it will get easier."

Jack procrastinated, playing with his food and not making any serious attempt for a while. "Tt _i_ mmuhh?"

"No timer. You have to take five bites without using your hands."

Jack pouted for a minute. Then he lowered his head and directly bit a chunk of food off his plate, making his older siblings laugh.

"Use your _spoon_ , Jack," Bruce snapped.

 _"No hands!"_ Jack insisted.

Bruce's personal alert system was the first to sound the alarm. At the look on his face when he checked, the rest of the family whipped out their phones to see if the news was public yet.

"Holy _crud_."

"Well, we were about due for another one, weren't we?"

Damian jumped up to get his pets safely downstairs. Alfred was fetching the family go bag, and Bruce was trying to calm the frightened children as he herded them toward the nearest entrance to the Batcave. Their anxiety was not at all helped by the sound of the Justice League alarm in Bruce's pocket going off, and then, while they were still descending, a government alarm.

"Mute it all, Bruce," Dick said in exasperation as he held the trembling John and Peter close to his sides. "We already know aliens are invading, we don't have to be reminded of it every ten seconds."

"I'm trying." Bruce himself was tense with fear for his family until all of them were safely in the Batcave and accounted for. He was still worried, of course, but he felt better knowing that his loved ones were ensconced in what he liked to think of as the safest place on Earth.

Except that now they were all suiting up.

"Damian, don't go as Batman," Tim said when he saw Damian climbing into the black uniform.

"I _am_ Batman now!"

"Dami," Dick put in, "it's one thing to annoy Gothamites on a normal night, but alien invasions are genuinely scary stuff for most people. Let's not traumatize them even more this soon after the Batpocalypse, okay?"

Damian sighed deeply, but climbed back out of the black suit and reached for his Robin one instead.

"What are you doing?" Bruce asked them all in dismay.

Tim paused. "I guess you never noticed because you were always en route to join the League by this point, but while you guys are doing your thing in the sky, there's always a ton of work for the B-list heroes on the ground."

Bruce had...known this. Of course he had known, but it was different reading through his family's post-narrowly-averted-catastrophe reports and actually seeing his children preparing to head out into danger, not knowing ahead of time that they'd all reach the end alive and relatively unharmed. "I..."

"Will you be joining the Justice League this time, Father?"

All three of the little Robins were clinging to Bruce fearfully. He didn't know if he'd be able to bring himself to leave them, because he'd never had young, untrained children during an intense global threat before. Dick had been a teenager by the time of the first such event, Damian's upbringing had inured him to threats ordinary children would have found terrifying, and none of Bruce's other kids had come to him as young as the birds were. "I hadn't...thought about it." Which was _stupid_. There was often a League-worthy event every few months or so, he _should_ have given more thought to what he'd do in exactly this sort of situation.

There was a rush of red wind, and the cave's security system lit up in readiness.

"Bruce!" Barry cried, "We need you up-" He paused, disconcerted, because the children had screamed at the sight of him.

"Flash clear," Bruce called, and the security system lights dimmed again. Now to calm the birds, whose only experience with speedsters was the Red Death. "John, Peter, Jack, this is my friend, Flash. He's my _friend_ , he's very nice."

Barry crouched down, looking a little awed. "These are...these are those kids? Laughs's Robins?"

" _My_ Robins now."

"Nnnoo hhhu'tt," John quavered, unable to sign with his fingers gripping Bruce's shirt.

"Flash will not hurt you."

"Bruce," Dick called from across the cave, "we're heading out." He and his siblings were all in uniform and getting on their bikes. Alfred and Duke were ready by the Batcomputer.

"Damian _stays_ with you at all times," Bruce demanded, knowing he probably wouldn't be able to keep his headstrong Robin in the cave, but desperate that the boy at least have a partner to watch over him.

"Got it."

"I don't need a babysitter!"

"Damian, we have been through this already. You are thirteen, you _will_ have a partner if you choose to go into the field," Bruce said. "Dick, Tim, all of you, be safe."

"Hah! That's a new one. I like it." Then, with a roar of engines, they were off.

Barry had pulled off his cowl and crept closer, now sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the children. "I'm Barry," he said gently, offering his hand. "I promise I won't hurt you." John hesitantly closed his hand around Barry's index finger in brief acknowledgement, then withdrew. "Heh. You guys really like Bruce, huh."

"Bboose Ddaddy," Jack explained, peeking out from behind his father's legs.

Barry looked up at his friend, his face alight. "Bruce!"

"It's not so surprising, since he probably doesn't have many good memories of his original parents," Bruce said defensively. "The other two boys have made it clear that they don't see me as their father."

Barry was undeterred. "Bruuuce! And here I thought you couldn't get any cuter!"

Bruce frowned thunderously.

"I'm so happy to meet you kiddos! I didn't mean to scare you with the super speed. I promise I only use it for good." He blinked, then shot to his feet. "OH YEAH! Bruce! Aliens!"

"I know," Bruce huffed.

"Are you...coming?"

"...I doubt I can come as Batman." Even if he were to change into his suit and leave the cave without the children seeing him in uniform, he still wasn't sure he could bring himself to put on the cowl again.

"Then come as someone else," Barry pleaded. "We need you, Bruce."

He knew they did. "All right. Go; I'll join you as soon as I can."

"Clark and Diana are at ground zero, and the Lanterns are trying to keep us from losing any more ground, but we're gonna need you with Cyborg in the Watchtower."

"Got it."

Barry pulled his cowl back over his face and zipped away.

The problem was that Bruce _needed_ the Batsuit. Mixing and matching was fine for ordinary patrol nights, but when the threat was this serious, he needed his most up-to-date and versatile weapons and technology, not just-in-case spares.

In the changing room, he stared at the Bat insignia and felt sick.

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha," a small voice muttered from the entryway. John was gripping the edge of the wall as he watched Bruce looking at the black suit.

Bruce marched toward him and the boy fled, scurrying to climb into Duke's lap and hide his face against the teen's neck.

"Keep them away from me," Bruce ordered. "Blindfold them if you have to. They can't see me in the cowl." Peter was clutching Alfred's sleeve; Jack was staring at Bruce like he knew there was something he was supposed to understand but couldn't figure out what it was.

"Hey, guys," Duke said, pulling out his phone, "let's learn about stupid Internet memes."

Back in the changing room, Bruce took hold of his best Batsuit and forced himself to start putting it on. _'I'm just getting dressed for work. It's just a uniform. Robin. Robin. My children, my family, everything that's bright and beautiful and brings me joy...'_ It worked, barely, until he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He had to throw back the cowl and gulp for air.

 _Been watching you your whole life carving out your path consuming you poisoning you use you to destroy everything you love use you to destroy everything, everything-_

 _'ROBIN. MY CHILDREN. DICK AND DAMIAN AND TIM AND JASON AND CASS. My little ones, my precious ones depending on me; Alfred and Duke, Barbara and Stephanie, Selina and Clark and Diana, Mother and Father...!'_ He used their names as a shield. It didn't matter what evil being _claimed_ to have controlled his life from the start; it didn't matter that he had been supposedly built up simply in order to fall as far and hard as possible. All that mattered was this moment, how he could use the _good_ that had come from the Bat to combat what threatened his loved ones. _'If the Bat was meant to be darkness, then I'll take what it gives me and MAKE it become light.'_

He picked up a spare Robin badge and fastened it to his chest, on top of the Bat symbol. It looked a little silly, but he didn't care. That was always Robin's role, to keep Batman in check and save him from truly falling into the dark.

"Alfred," he said through the comms, "I'm coming out."

 _"I'll shield them, sir, though as mesmerized as they are by this 'Nyan Cat' nonsense, I doubt they'd notice, anyway."_

 _TBC_

A/N: This was how the chapter was _supposed_ to go: Bruce wants to stay home, a Justice League member comes to convince him to fight alongside them, he reluctantly agrees, he dresses in his Batman suit, accidentally traumatizes the birds, rips off the suit and finally manages to calm them down, and the League member realizes that Bruce's place is with his children.

I finally figured out that that just wouldn't happen. X'''D Even if Bruce wanted to stay home, he knows that his duty is to join his team in protecting the world, and he would have definitely made sure that the babies didn't see him dressed like their abuser. So...we missed out on an angsty emotional scene that some of you would have enjoyed, but I couldn't bring myself to write it because it didn't feel honest.

I know that Nyan Cat is an old meme, but I'm not exactly up to date on the new ones (I don't even know if I'm defining "meme" correctly), and I can totally imagine the little Robins getting sucked into watching that ridiculous thing for ages. X'D Maybe Duke's starting with some classics.


	25. Chapter 13

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 13 (rough draft 2)**

They won, because the good guys always won (in this universe, anyway), and no one was killed or maimed, but the entire team was battered and exhausted by the end. Transportation had also become an issue, so Bruce ended up cracking open his nearest emergency Bat equipment storage and retrieving a Bat Plane to fly his friends home in.

'Home' being Gotham. Bruce, although steeling himself for the journey, was exhausted, too, probably even more than all the whiny metas in the back seat were. (Just the battle itself had been bad enough, and it did nothing to help his morale when all the civilians he'd worked to get to safety reacted to Batman with hostility and/or terror.) If anyone wanted to spend the night somewhere other than Gotham, they could arrange their own transportation.

"Lois! Are you and Jon all right? The apartment's still standing? ... That's good. Yes, the invasion's over, the government's handling the rest. ... No, I don't think I'll be able to make it home tonight, I'd probably drop out of the sky if I tried to fly right now, but we're all fine. ... Yes, yes, just wanted to check on you and let you know that we're all right, and that I'll probably be staying at Bruce's. I'll see you and Jon tomorrow. ... Yes, of course! ... Hey there, kiddo. I heard you did your mom and me proud...!"

Nearly everyone was dozing or flat-out asleep by the time Bruce landed the plane. The platform finished lowering with a jolt, startling everyone but Barry back into wakefulness.

"We're here," Bruce announced, unfastening his safety harness. It took two tries for him to lever himself up out of the pilot's seat.

"Oh- Lois, honey, I have to go. ... I love you, too. Bye!" Clark hung up with a fond smile lingering on his face.

"Where is 'here'?" Jessica asked, squinting out the windshield in confusion.

"It's dark," Arthur complained.

"We're in the cave. Feel free to spend the night here, if you want. I'm not flying any farther tonight."

Simon shook Barry awake, and all eight League members stumbled down the gangway. The cave's security system lit up. "Justice League 1 through 7 clear," Bruce called to disarm it.

"Wait, you gave us numbers?" Victor realized.

"Which number am I?" Arthur wanted to know, clearly seeing it as a ranking system.

"It's the order in which you all agreed to join the League," Bruce snapped. Suddenly remembering that his youngest children might still be in the cave, he whipped off his cowl and seized the nearest thing suitable enough to hide his suit, which happened to be Superman's cape.

Clark halted in mild confusion at the tug on his back. "Bruce...?"

"The Robins," Bruce hissed, "the ones I took from Laughs, are they down here?"

"Oh." Clark looked around. "Sleeping."

John, Peter, and Jack were curled up together in a nest of blankets on a practice mat. None of them were keeping watch, for once. Perhaps they'd felt safer with Bruce gone, and Alfred and Duke nearby.

Speaking of Alfred and Duke, the two were patching up Bruce's older birds, who all looked just as battered and exhausted as the League.

"Ah! Welcome home, Master Bruce," Alfred said warmly.

"More patients for you, Alfred," Bruce apologized, dragging Clark after him so he could grasp his butler's hand in greeting. He hid a smile at the way Duke was staring at the Justice League in awe. "Dick? Is everyone all right?"

"Ish," Dick murmured, wearily waving a hand. "Hi, Clark."

"Good to see you, Dick."

"Someone get these creatures away from me," Arthur demanded, unsuccessfully trying to back away from Titus and Alfred. The animals' noses were practically stuck to him and his exceedingly enticing fishy smell. Dick went over to rescue him.

"I have to get out of this suit," Bruce said urgently. "Kent, move." He pulled on the red cape again and marched toward the conjoined changing and shower rooms.

Clark stumbled after him, trying to pretend he didn't hear Tim saying to Damian, "Now I see where you learned how to treat Jon."

"I can detach the cape-"

"No time."

Meanwhile, Jessica had suddenly gasped. " _Ba_ bies!"

Diana's head came up like a wolf scenting something delicious. "Babies?!"

"Oh yeah, Bruce's new babies!" Barry remembered, and led the way over to the nest on the practice mat.

Bruce, who had nearly reached the changing room, swerved back and headed to where almost the entire Justice League was crouched around his little ones. (Clark fumbled at where his cape was clasped to the collar of his uniform.) The last thing Bruce wanted was for his small Robins to wake up and find a bunch of powerful metas looming over them. "Stop that, you'll frighten them! Back away; two at a time. Diana and Jessica can look at them first." Clark finally managed to unfasten half the cape, but Bruce jerked him another few steps before he could finish.

"Why them?!" Barry protested.

"You already saw them earlier."

Clark had had enough; he planted his feet, forcing Bruce still until he'd finished detaching the cape. " _There_ , all yours," Clark said, draping the far corner of his cape over Bruce's shoulder and backing away with his hands raised.

"I still need you to guard the entry in case they wake up while I'm still changing."

"But...I wanted to look at the babies, too..."

It was amazing how threatening Batman could still look even barefaced and with a piece of bright red fabric clutched around his body.

"Fine, I'll come guard the entry."

In the changing room, Bruce finally let go of Superman's cape and started stripping off the Batsuit, chucking it piece by piece against the wall by some cabinets.

"How have things been with the little ones?" Clark asked, retrieving his cape.

"Fine."

"...Bruce, please give me more than just 'Fine.' This is called 'making conversation so I feel slightly less awkward watching you get naked.'"

"You might as well shower, too, since you're in here."

"Oh." That was actually a good idea. Clark started peeling off his suit. "I'm still curious about the kids. There's no reason to be secretive about them with me."

"Hn." Bruce sighed. "They're improving. Every day. ...I'm proud of them."

"That's wonderful, Bruce," Clark said sincerely.

They stopped talking for a few minutes to focus on showering, but it was a companionable silence. Clark caught the towel Bruce tossed to him afterward. "There are more towels and clean pajamas in this cabinet, all sizes," Bruce added, taking out a set for himself.

"Thanks." He suddenly picked up on the sound of approaching tiny feet. "Bruce-" he warned, and used a bit of super speed to get dressed.

"Ddaaaaddy?" a quavering little voice called.

Bruce, now wearing a pair of pajama pants, dropped the matching shirt and reached instead to thrust his arms deep into the cabinet shelf containing stacks of folded towels. He managed to sweep all the towels into a pile covering the Batsuit just before Jack peered into the room.

"Ddaddy!"

Bruce hurried to meet him, trying to put some distance between the Bat symbol and his youngest son. He swept the child up into his arms. "Hello, Jack."

"Hhi, Ddaddy," Jack said, relaxing a little as he leaned his head against Bruce's shoulder.

"Do you remember Clark?"

Jack studied him a minute, then waved. Clark waved back.

"Did my other friends scare you?"

 _"Big people. Smile...smile..."_

"They smiled because they were happy to see you. None of them would ever hurt you, Jack."

The boy giggled uncertainly. Bruce carried him out to where John was hiding behind Dick and Peter behind Alfred, both boys looking like they were trying to decide whether they should let Diana and Barry (the League members crouching closest and being the most coaxing) win them over or not.

"It might be easier to back off and pretend you don't notice them," Dick suggested. "Sometimes it works better to let them come to you."

So everyone retreated and gave the children some space, shifting their attention to getting cleaned up and treated for injuries. Bruce put down Jack, who was eventually persuaded by Jessica to let her cuddle him. "Ooohh, tiny baaaaby," she cooed.

"I nno bbaby," he told her. He huffed when Barry carefully petted his hair, but didn't resist.

Duke took the opportunity to rather shyly approach Victor. "Hi, um, Mr. St- Cy- Umm, Mr. Stone."

Victor smiled. "What's up, man? You can call me Vic."

"I'm Duke." He shook Victor's hand.

"You work with Batman?"

"Yeah, I- Well, I was... I mean, I was training, but then the Batpocalypse happened, and..."

Victor's eyebrow furrowed. "He stopped training you?"

"Not really, just- Not as much- I mean... He's busier now, you know?" Duke murmured, glancing at the Robins. "He even kind of quit being Batman himself. He's only been on one patrol since the apocalypse, and now this, but that's it. He still trains me sometimes, it's just that he's...busy."

Victor clapped his shoulder. "I'll see about getting you a Watchtower pass. Feel free to come see me anytime, all right? I've got some stuff I can show you that even the Bat doesn't know."

Duke's smile grew. "Thanks, I really appreciate that. ...You know, I've always wanted to meet you. Been hoping I'd get the chance ever since I fell in with Batman. I've been following you since you first started making the news."

"My head wasn't in the best place in the beginning," Victor admitted, "but I'm doing better now, and I always like meeting kids like you. Don't ever let anything hold you back, all right? You've already got the greatness in you, you just need to keep that flame burning."

It wasn't the first time Duke had been told something of the sort, but it was wonderful to hear encouragement from someone he had such respect and admiration for. "Are you gonna spend the night here?"

"Looks like that's the plan."

"Cool. I'll show you all the guest rooms on the third floor, there's one that has an awesome view in the mornings. If you want. I mean, I know you probably don't need a guest room because you don't sleep, but you can chill and use the Wi-Fi and stuff-" Duke broke off, mortified that he'd just offered Wi-Fi to a guy who connected to the Internet the way ordinary humans breathed.

"Hey, you live here, I'll take your recommendation," Victor said with a smile, not even mentioning the slip-up.

Now that the children weren't being stared at anymore, they had started to venture out amongst the visitors. "Sssooo'ppa mmmaann," John murmured, touching Clark's chest even though he was now wearing pajamas rather than the S.

"That's right, kiddo," Clark said fondly.

John trotted onward to the next interesting person. "Hhelllo?"

"Hi, kid. My name's Simon."

"Sssiiimm... Mmm."

"Heh, close enough."

John touched a scratch on the man's cheek. "Ooww?"

"Oh, it doesn't really hurt. My shoulder hurts more, I think I wrenched it..."

John went to steal a box of adhesive bandages from Alfred's med kit. He came back, fished out a bandage, tore off the wrapping with his teeth, and struggled to apply the now slightly mangled bandage to the red mark on Simon's face. He mostly missed, and the section that did make it over the injury was a sticky part rather than the padded part, but John still looked satisfied. "Nno ooww."

"You are really hecking cute, kid..."

Peter was playing with Diana's hair. "Ppp _eh_ 'tty," he remarked. "Sssff-tuh."

"Hello, little one. I am very glad to meet you."

 _"Red, blue, yellow,"_ he signed, looking at her outfit. Then he turned his head and twittered demandingly of his younger brother, his body language shifting from warily curious to bossy, _"[warble]! Give me hair pretties!"_

 _"No! My hair pretties!"_ Jack shout-twittered back.

There was some collective squee from the Justice League at the children literally calling to each other like birds.

 _"Pretty small things for pretty woman!"_

 _"Okay,"_ Jack gave in. He squirmed away from Jessica so he could dig the hair clips out of his pockets and hand them over to Peter for the sake of decorating Diana.

John was still making his rounds, putting bandages on the League members' cuts and bruises. Bruce considered stopping him, but then decided that since no one seemed to mind, it was good dexterity practice. He did, however, warn the boy, "John, we need to clean all this up." He made the annoyed bird start picking up the bits of packaging before he was allowed to move on to the next injured person.

John reached Victor and studied him for a moment, then he touched a dent in the man's forearm. "Ooww." He took another bandage, messily relieved it of its packaging, and worked to stick it over the dent. He touched another dent. "Ooww."

Victor looked utterly charmed. Barry was recording the scene on his phone. Diana was sitting cross-legged on the floor like a queen, looking honored as Peter clipped up locks of her hair.

"Peter, can I have some hair clips, too?" Jessica asked.

The boy looked at her. _"Pretty woman,"_ he decided, and went to style her hair with the last of the clips.

"I approve of your younglings," Arthur announced to Bruce, who replied dryly, "Thanks."

Just when everyone was wrapping up in the cave, Alfred disinfecting supplies and Tim and Damian turning away from the Batcomputer and Barry asking about food again and Dick and Jessica falling asleep on each other's shoulders, Bruce's phone pinged with a notification. He found two people in view of the front door's security camera - they'd apparently bypassed the one at the front gates.

Clark picked up the sound of the newcomers calling for him, and he rushed upstairs. By the time everyone else caught up, they found him in the front hall, carrying an exhausted-looking Jon piggyback as he kissed a windswept Lois.

"Kent, you fool, you carried your mother all the way here?" Damian scoffed.

Jon cracked open one eye, his arms tightening around his father's neck. "Wanted to see Dad," he mumbled. "An' now I'm really hungry..."

" _I'm_ really hungry, too," Barry begged for about the fifth time.

"If anyone who cares for refreshments would be so good as to wait where you'll be more comfortable," Alfred called, starting to usher people out of the hall, "I will prepare something momentarily."

"I think I just want to go to bed," Simon murmured to Bruce, who called for anyone else who wanted to retire for the night to follow him so he could show them to the guest rooms.

Half of the ones who stayed up to eat were drooping by the time they finished; Damian and Jon were already asleep, one on a sofa and the other on the floor. While Victor and Diana helped Alfred clean up, Clark picked up Jon to take him to Damian's room, and Bruce started physically assisting his other friends and his son to their rooms like they were sleepy children themselves. The last ones in the hall, after Alfred finally retired for the night, were Bruce, Tim, and the three birds.

"Go straight to bed, Tim," Bruce said.

Tim paused at the door of his room. "...Soon," he promised.

"Don't pave the way for another breakdown like you had this morning. Whatever you're wanting to work on can wait."

Tim sighed. "Good night, Bruce." His bedroom door shut.

Bruce looked down at the children, who looked back up at him. _"Seatbelts?"_

 _'Oh, for the love of...'_ "No. I know it's close to dawn, but we're going to sleep."

He was so, so tired. He lay down beside the Robins' nest and managed to make it through a picture book, but fell asleep mid-paragraph as he was reading _Peter Pan_.

The children stared at him for a moment, then at each other. There was no way they were going to willingly sleep so close to This Master, so they shed their blankets and went to climb onto the big nest instead. Daddy's scent in the sheets was much different than That Master's, so [ _warble_ ] fell asleep quickly. [ _caw_ ] was troubled, but eventually managed to drift off with his back pressed hard against his brother. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was the one who kept watch, listening to his flockmates' breathing in the quiet darkness.

 _TBC_

A/N: My primary interest in the DC universe is Batman, with Superman being secondary. Although I've read and watched a bit of the others, I'm not as familiar with their personalities, superpowers, etc. Diana's characterization in the DCEU _Wonder Woman_ movie was so perfect that I use it as my default for writing her. Most of what I know about the Flash is from the CW show, which I've only seen the first two or three seasons of. I've read a few Green Lantern books, including some of the Rebirth series with Simon & Jessica, but I find the Lantern side of the DCU distasteful and don't keep up with it. **I barely know anything about Aquaman, and he's probably OOC here** because, at the time I wrote this chapter, all I had to go on for his characterization was the DCEU _Justice League_ trailer. When I actually watched the movie later, I realized that I'd made some wrong assumptions about Arthur (namely, I hadn't realized that he was raised in the surface world). X'D


	26. Chapter 14, Part 1

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 14.1 (rough draft 2)**

Bruce would have liked to sleep for a lot longer than a few hours, but his young roommates put a stop to that. He woke up a little after ten o'clock, horribly stiff from sleeping on the floor, and could tell immediately what the children were up to from the noise that had awakened him.

All three boys were having a grand old time jumping on his bed and throwing his pillows around, giggling and shrieking and crowing their excitement. At least, they were until Bruce lumbered to his feet. The instant they saw him up and shambling toward them in clear disapproval, John and Peter fled, racing to hide behind furniture on the other side of the room.

"Nnooo? _We were not jumping,"_ Jack signed innocently, standing amidst the rumpled bedding and battered pillows.

"Jack," Bruce said, his voice rough from the discomfort of his sleep, "I'm not angry, but don't do it again, and do not lie to me. All three of you will help Alfred fix the bed later." He put a brightly-colored note on the pillow to inform Alfred in case he forgot to tell the butler himself.

 _"Good bed."_ Jack followed Bruce around the bathroom, copying when he could, even to the point of stepping into the shower with him. Bruce sighed, too tired to protest, and squirted some shampoo into the child's waiting hands.

He was also too tired to shave or do more than simply smooth down his hair after toweling it off. By the time he got dressed, the older boys had crept out of hiding. _"...Seatbelts?"_

"Not now." He didn't want any of the League to see his youngest children acting like they were being tortured; he'd have to wait until all his guests left. "Maybe in the afternoon."

 _"Breakfast?"_

"We will eat soon. Get dressed first." He tried to put a little more effort into getting the children ready for the day (John was starting to be more assertive about which specific articles of clothing he wanted to wear. Bruce let him, even though it meant the boy would be facing the day in a shiny blue leotard, paired with Wonder Woman shorts and an oversized, bright yellow jacket with beaded fringe that he had somehow unearthed in the depths of the manor), then followed them when they galloped down to the more public part of the house.

The only ones already up were Damian, who was playing with Jon and Titus in the back yard, and Clark, Lois, and Victor, who were all sitting around a table on the terrace and having a quiet, pleasant conversation.

As soon as Bruce slid open the back door, the children raced out into the sunlit greenery. "And there they go," Bruce sighed, vaguely displeased until he remembered that he hadn't actually had any specific plans for them. Ignoring Damian's indignant screeching at being interrupted, Jon's laughter, and Titus's excited barking at the arrival of new playmates, Bruce shuffled over to the table where the adults were and slumped into a free chair.

"Good morning!" all three of them greeted him, sounding ridiculously chipper after the night they'd all had.

"Why's there no coffee?" Bruce mumbled.

"Alfred's still asleep, and we didn't want to poke around in his kitchen without permission," Lois said sheepishly.

"'S fine," Bruce said, eyes closed as he propped his elbow on the table and rested his forehead in his palm. "Go make coffee, I'll deal w' Alfred. Or tea, or...wh'ever you want..."

His friends watched him curiously. "...Did he just fall asleep sitting up?" Victor finally said.

"Yes," Clark chuckled, able to tell from the rate of Bruce's breathing and heartbeat. "Want me to bring you anything in particular, Lo?"

"Ooohh, no, he gave us the okay, so I want to _explore_ ," Lois said eagerly, getting up to join him. "Rich people have all sorts of randomly cool things in their kitchens."

"I bet he drinks, like, pure goat's milk from the Himalayas with his breakfast cereal," Victor laughed. "And I bet the cereal's some organic, gluten-free stuff he eats with fresh berries or- Well, no, Batman doesn't eat breakfast cereal, does he."

"His kids do," Clark called over his shoulder. "Dick likes Justice League Blasters."

"Seriously?! Ooh, I am getting me some of that!" Victor exclaimed, jumping up to follow them inside.

One by one, more people awakened and joined them until they had a system established. Clark and Victor cooked, as Lois located and supplied everyone with drinks and utensils, and Barry conveyed fresh food and dirty plates between the kitchen and terrace, in between happily gobbling down his own breakfast.

Alfred eventually appeared, perfectly pressed, and politely kicked everyone out of the kitchen so he could take over. The entire League was awake and pretty much having a brunch party on the terrace by the time the rest of the Bats came straggling to join them.

"Look at all you sleepyheads, you guys really are nocturnal," Simon laughed.

Dick smiled over his cereal, allowing John to hoist himself half over his shoulder and swipe pieces out of the bowl. Peter was creeping around the table, seeing how many plates he could steal from without getting caught, and blissfully unaware that at least half the people he was stealing from were deliberately looking the other way. Titus stalked him in turn, and was rewarded with an occasional shared tidbit. Jack, wielding a pair of tongs with both hands, was taking great pleasure in the role reversal of making an amused Diana and Jessica ask, in sign language, for each morsel of their food.

Bruce slept through all of it.

"What the heck," Simon finally remarked in awed puzzlement, "I thought that Batman was supposed to be super-vigilant or something."

"You'd think at least the noise would wake him up," Duke agreed.

"It's because he feels safe," Dick explained. Everyone suddenly quieted and fixed their attention on him. "He doesn't usually fall asleep like this, but when he's got his best friends, who happen to be some of the most powerful metas on Earth, gathered around to watch his back and keep an eye on the baby birds? With us big birds here to counter if necessary? He knows that all his bases are covered, and he can afford to let his guard down a little."

"Oh, Bruce," Diana murmured affectionately, reaching out a hand as if to pet Bruce's hair, though she pulled back at the last moment so as not to wake him.

"Granted, I wouldn't put it past him to be subconsciously retaining everything he hears to process later when he's conscious," Tim added, "but yeah. Basically."

"That's really sweet," Barry said sincerely, "but he's going to miss breakfast if he doesn't wake up soon. He _has_ missed breakfast! It's practically lunch time now."

Dick's grin turned slightly evil. "Watch this." He straightened up and drew in a breath. "OH MY GOD IT'S BANE!"

o.o.o.o.o

 _DANGER_

Bruce jerked awake, distractedly admonished himself for having fallen asleep, then frowned when he found himself surrounded by literally every person currently staying in his home. Almost all of them were laughing at him. "What?" When had everyone woken up? Where had all this food come from? Why were they _laughing_? With all this noise and lack of privacy, he couldn't replay his subconscious record of whatever they'd been talking about while he was asleep, but he would check the manor's security system when he had a chance.

For now, since they were all obnoxiously refusing to explain and pushing a huge plate of food in front of him, Bruce didn't bother to make a big deal about it. If there really was danger, either his security measures or the League's super-senses would have detected it, but everyone seemed relaxed and happy.

"Did you sleep well?" Barry asked him.

"I'm the host, I'm supposed to be asking _you_ all that," Bruce said sourly.

"You didn't, though," Simon pointed out.

"For the record," Arthur let it be known, "I slept excellently. Your guest quarters are decent, for being on land."

"Thanks," Bruce said in the same dry tone Arthur's 'compliments' always seemed to incite in him.

"They are excellent sleeping chambers," Diana said in a reassuring tone. Her expression turned ever so slightly mischievous. "If a little heavy for my taste."

"Oh, stop it. Bruce, you have a very nice house," Clark said, in a way that was meant to be supportive but sounded condescending to Bruce.

"I even found the goat milk!" Victor proclaimed triumphantly, making the others laugh for some reason.

Bruce sighed deeply, wondering why he felt so peaceful when his friends were being so annoying.

It was past noon by the time everyone finished eating. Most of the League insisted on helping clean up, which guilted the Bats into helping as well (all of them but Jason and Duke had always been terrible about distinguishing between the times Alfred needed to control the manor's upkeep and the times he appreciated assistance).

Then there was some mild chaos for a while with all the farewell bidding, people chatting when they were supposed to be farewell bidding, the young adult Bats getting into scuffles because the disruption of their routines had left them with too much energy to burn, the child Bats shrieking around the house with Jon and Titus in what might or might not have been a game, their parents too preoccupied to do more than call out an occasional "Quiet down!"...

Finally, the door closed behind the last guest. "Clark," Bruce murmured. Superman would still be subconsciously attuned to the sounds of Wayne Manor until distance and new things to focus on eventually pulled his attention away. He didn't want the Kryptonian to double back when he heard screaming. "You know I would never hurt them. Mind your own business."

Jack was already clinging to his back like a little monkey, still murmuring under his breath, "Bbye-bye, bbye-bye, aall ggone." The older two were just starting to wander away; Bruce managed to grab hold of them before they could get far. Both of them screamed in terror at the sudden restrictive grip.

"Seatbelts."

" _CROOOWW_!" John howled.

When Peter heard the explanation, the terror in his eyes softened to anger and petulance. "Nnnooo! No! No! No!" he shrieked, kicking and struggling in what was now vehement protest rather than panic.

"I ddoht llaikk'tt!" Jack shouted, beating a fist against Bruce but not trying to get down.

Dick, unable to bear the children's screaming when he wasn't allowed to make it stop, had already vanished. Tim was staring in shock as Bruce dragged the shrieking, struggling children past him. "What the hell...?"

"They really, really, _really_ don't like seatbelts," Duke explained.

"I have explained to them that if they put up with it without all these theatrics, they will no longer be forced into it every day," Damian huffed, "but they refuse to believe me."

"Trauma doesn't work like that, buddy," Duke said, patting his shoulder.

In the garage, Bruce shut the children in the car with him. Peter kicked and screamed and lashed out, then, his displeasure vented, he wrapped himself around his younger brother to wait. John had knelt on the seat, shaking and crying. He curled up in a corner and put his arms over his head.

 _"Ice cream,"_ Jack stormed. _"You bad to us I hate it, you give us ice cream!"_

"Yes."

 _"You give us ice cream!"_

"When the timer goes off, you will get ice cream as a reward."

 _"...Clock make number number number zero, ZERO I like it, first zero then ice cream! First zero then ice cream!"_

"Yes."

 _"Do not hurt us!"_

"I will not."

 _"...I don't like seatbelts!"_

"I know."

 _"...Teach me."_

"Teach you what?"

Jack made an expressive, whole body shrug that Bruce took to mean, _"Anything."_

"All right. You can count, right?"

"Wwuh ttoo ffee ffour ffai," Jack said scornfully.

"Can you count by twos? Two, four, six, eight, ten."

Jack stared at him.

"You count, but you skip a number each time. Skip one, start with two. Skip three, say four. Skip five, say six. Two, four, six, eight, ten, twelve, fourteen..."

Jack continued staring, his face lighting up with interest at the challenge. "...Ttwo." He paused. "Ttwo, fffour." His lips moved silently as he calculated. "Ttwo, ffour, ssiixx...eeeiightt...tttenn..."

The timer went off. Bruce opened the door and the younger boys immediately rushed out. He gave them their ice cream, relieved when they cheered up almost at once.

Their older brother, however, was still in the car. Bruce brought the cooler over. "Which one do you want, John? Ice cream, chips, or something from the kitchen?"

John looked at him. " _crow_ " he said pointedly. "Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. _crow_ "

"No..." He hadn't even technically forced the seatbelts on them yet. Peter and Jack might be ready for it next time, but John was still so hurt and resentful about it even without being strapped down... "This isn't like that, John. I _don't_ want to hurt or scare you. I'm doing this so you'll be safe when I take you places other than the manor."

John finally crawled out of the car, slowly and stiffly, and consumed his reward in complete silence.

 _TBC_

A/N: For those who don't know, Simon is Simon Baz, one of the Green Lanterns. He and Jessica Cruz didn't get along at first, so Hal Jordan did something to link their Lanterns and force them to cooperate more. Simon & Jessica are the Lanterns on the Rebirth Justice League team; I have no idea what Hal is doing, but he's got his own Rebirth series, separate from the one that features Simon & Jessica.


	27. Chapter 14, Part 2

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 14.2 (rough draft 2)**

Dick and Tim were sitting close together in the living room, talking quietly but intently. They looked up when their two youngest brothers burst into the room and ran to them.

"Dd'kk! Dd'kk!"

"Ttimmmy!"

"You okay?" Tim asked, looking concerned but also like he wasn't quite sure what to do with his sudden arm- and lapful of cuddly child.

 _"Listen!"_ Jack insisted, then burst into rapid signed babble that basically boiled down to, _"He do seatbelts to us and we REALLY REALLY DON'T LIKE IT!"_

 _"Ice cream!"_ Peter was telling Dick in the meantime. _"Ice cream GOOD seatbelts BAD, why two always?! Ice cream ONLY, no seatbelts!"_

Bruce wanted very much to leave, but John wouldn't move. Even when he tried gently pushing the child toward his brothers, John simply stood there, miserably curled in on himself like he was freezing cold. "John, go sit with Dick for a while. Dick is right over there." John struck Bruce's hand away, but otherwise didn't move.

Tim looked up indignantly. "You do this to them every day? When they've had a history of being abusively restrained?"

"And what's _your_ suggestion for teaching them how to tolerate non-abusive safety restraints?"

At that, Tim looked less certain. "I... You could at least let us help. They're so afraid of you-"

"No. They've _always_ been afraid of me; I will not give them reason to fear you as well."

John abruptly seized Bruce's shirt and yanked so hard that Bruce was actually forced down. "Iii Sssowwyy," John snarled, making a determined effort for each word, "Iii Mmmaay Yyyoouu Cccai."

"I- ...The song? You want me to...?"

"Iii...Sssoowwy-" John gave up and let go so he could sign. _"Give me! Sing! Give me!"_

Bruce resisted the impulse to glance at their little audience. "All right... Come to my office and I'll-"

John jerked out of his light grasp as if it was hot iron. " _CROW_!" His arms gestured viciously. _"SING!"_

It would have to be right here and now, then. Bruce deliberately narrowed his focus so that the world contained nothing but John. He knelt; John seized tight fistfuls of his shirt. _"...[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_

John pushed his face against Bruce's shoulder and cried, though not loudly enough to drown out the song.

Bruce's arms automatically came around him, trying to both shield him and not make him feel trapped. _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_

John gradually relaxed, though his shaking grew worse. Bruce moved a little so he could lean back against the nearest chair and sit more comfortably, careful not to break the song. He had to sing it twice to give John enough time to calm down, and even then, the boy still clung to him.

By that time, Jack was perched on the back of the armchair; Peter was lurking somewhere behind it. Dick was watching with his chin resting on his crossed arms. Tim had leaned his head against the back of the couch with his eyes closed like he was sleeping, though Bruce could tell he wasn't.

He needed something else to sing. John wasn't crying or shaking like a leaf anymore, but little tremors were still going through his body, and he obviously wasn't ready to get up yet. Anything would do, really. _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_

The tune was so soothing, even Bruce felt himself relaxing. A few stanzas in, John gave a deep exhale and went limp, looking slightly at peace now as he lay cradled in his father's arms.

 _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_

Halfway through, Jack surprised them all by joining in, vocalizing along with the gentle melody exactly like a bird. Peter's voice rose up almost immediately, both strains of birdsong accompanying Bruce's voice.

 _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_

By the last stanza, John, though still silent, was softly tapping his fingertips against Bruce's shirt along with the beat.

 _"...[*censored because FFN is stupid*]."_

There was a long silence, unbroken by Jack's signed _"I like it."_

Dick smiled. His voice was so quiet that it didn't seem jarring. "He's totally going to make you sing to him every day now."

"I figured as much," Bruce grumbled, but his expression was soft as he gazed down at his son. John looked back up at him, apprehension in his eyes like he thought he was about to be figuratively dumped back in the cold. "John," Bruce said. Both he and his older sons were all in pretty serious need of a training session by now, which left only one person to babysit. "How about you and your brothers stay with Alfred for a while?"

"Gggamm'ppa," John whispered.

"Ggam'ppa, Ggam'ppa!" Peter and Jack chorused eagerly.

Alfred was ironing in the laundry room, the sound of an opera on the music player just loud enough to be heard above the rumbling of the washing machine. Most of the family came bustling up, Dick with an arm around his clingy little alternate self, Bruce carrying a couple of bean bag chairs, Tim bringing a bag of books and toys, and the youngest children cavorting around them like puppies.

"Alfred...I really hate to ask, but we're going to be busy for the next couple of hours or so..."

Alfred smiled, set the iron securely on its stand, and reached out to clasp hands and ruffle hair when Peter and Jack bounded over to him. John followed more slowly, but instead of scampering away again like the other two did, he clung to Alfred's coat. "I'm afraid I shall have to multitask at least until the laundry's done, but if you think they will stay out of mischief, I'll be happy to keep an eye on them."

Bruce fixed the boys with a stern look. "Will you be good for Alfred, or are you going to make me come after you?"

 _"Good boys,"_ Jack signed.

 _"Good, Grandpa,"_ Peter agreed.

Duke came in, carrying the fringed yellow jacket that had gotten discarded in the chaos of the morning. "Found it!"

"That is the ugliest thing I've ever seen in my life," Tim stated. "Did you _give_ him that, Dick?"

"Nope! He found it all on his own," Dick said proudly.

"Boys," Bruce scolded the youngest two, "do not jump on the bean bag chairs." He made a mental note to order an outdoor trampoline and dig up the small exercise trampolines he knew were somewhere in the house. There were trampolines downstairs as well, but the children couldn't be in the cave while the Bats were training. "They are for sitting or lounging, _not_ jumping."

He gave them a lecture on how dangerous the hot iron was (they immediately looked solemn and kept their distance, especially after a demonstration of water droplets fizzling on the metal surface), got them settled with some books, and he and Dick together managed to coax John off of Alfred and tuck him between his brothers. Bruce gave him his stuffed elephant to hug, and Dick covered him with the hideous jacket as if it was a blanket.

"Be good for Alfred, and we'll play one last game when I get back," Dick said. He kissed his baby birds goodbye and left with the others.

The children were quiet for a while, John recovering from the seatbelt ordeal as his brothers paged through their books, babbling a mix of bird language and English when they remembered the quotes that matched the pictures. They also practiced some genuine reading - both of them had been able to read before their abductions, and the academic lessons were slowly reviving the parts of their brains that had been scrambled by drugs and trauma.

There was, however, no way that a single activity could hold their interest for two whole hours, when there were so many other things to think about and do and examine.

"Master Jack, come back here," Alfred called. "I'm afraid I can't have you wandering off on your own."

 _"I will go play,"_ [ _warble_ ] twittered testingly to himself.

 _"Master will come hurt you tie you,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] reminded him dully.

 _"Master GONE! Daddy now!"_

 _"Bat, 'Daddy,' yes/no, doesn't matter,"_ [ _caw_ ] pointed out. _"Be good for Grandpa."_

[ _warble_ ] remembered how comforting Grandpa had been whenever Master hurt him. It would be wrong to make Grandpa unhappy when he always tried so hard to make their little flock feel better. _"Okay."_ He galloped over to Grandpa and signed, _"Bored!"_

"Perhaps you can help me fold these towels," Alfred suggested, then added dryly, "There are _quite_ a lot of them today."

Jack (and, soon, Peter) was willing to help, and John eventually came over as well. Their hands were clumsy, but Alfred was patient, and they eventually got all the towels folded. Alfred left them to be taken down to the cave later, and piled more clean, folded laundry on a cart, giving a small stack to each child to carry so the boys would feel useful.

He wheeled the cart through the mansion with the children trotting after him like ducklings. They stopped in one room after another, putting the clothing and towels away in their proper places, until the cart was empty. Alfred, upon seeing the note, also made the boys help him fix Bruce's bed.

 _"Finished!"_

"Quite so. I believe we have all earned some tea and biscuits."

Only Peter liked his tea reasonably sweetened; the other two made faces and complained until Alfred had mixed an ungodly amount of honey and sugar into their cups. Then the four of them spent an enjoyable half hour on Alfred's private patio, sipping their tea (or slurping it, in John's and Jack's cases) and talking.

 _"Bird! Red bird!"_

"Yes. That is a cardinal."

"Kkaddo?"

Alfred taught them how to pronounce it correctly.

"Ccaarrdduh, nnnall!"

"Very good."

Jack took photographs and all three children played with the tea set and the pot of flowers on the table, and with the buttons on Alfred's coat and with each other. Alfred watched them jumping around in a hopscotch-like game and thought proudly to himself that he could not have asked for better additions to his growing collection of grandchildren.

o.o.o.o.o

The session had been intentionally grueling. Combined with the lack of sleep and his usual tendency to crash during quieter periods between crises, Bruce was exhausted. He left the children to play with Dick and Damian so he could rest in the library. He had a pile of books and a small plate of snacks and his work briefcase to occupy him, but he found himself just lying on one of the couches, doing and thinking of nothing in particular.

There was the sound of footsteps and voices in the hall. " _There's_ Daddy!"

"Daddy!" Jack came trotting up and climbed right on top of Bruce.

"Oof."

"Jack wanted to play with you," Dick explained.

"I can't play," Bruce mumbled.

"Aw. Daddy's tired, Jackie."

"Ppoorr Ddaddy," Jack said, patting his face and making Dick laugh.

"Let's let him sleep a little, we'll go back and join Damian and the others."

"I bbe ggood," Jack promised. _"Quiet."_

"All right. Well, Bruce, feel free to kick him out if you want, you know where to find us." Dick set a bag on the coffee table and left.

Bruce randomly remembered the annoying incident in the morning when no one would tell him why he'd been startled awake. He dragged his tablet close and started going through the manor's security recordings until he found what he was looking for. There was no audio, as a compromise between the family's security and privacy, but none of the Bats ever bothered to hide their lip movements from the cameras unless they were specifically trying to be secretive.

 _"It's because he feels safe."_

 _'Dammit, Dick!'_ Bruce thought.

 _"OH MY GOD IT'S BANE!"_

Bruce stabbed the Stop button just as the Justice League burst laughter, and thrust the tablet away with a displeased sigh.

"Daddy mmad?" Jack wondered.

"My friends are not very nice," Bruce told him, "and my eldest child is a traitor."

"Ttaytto," Jack mimicked amiably.

Bruce closed his eyes, and a minute passed in silence.

"Daaaaddy?"

"Either stay and be quiet or go away to be noisy."

"Bboo'kk?"

"I can't read right now. You read it to me if you want it."

Jack pulled Dr. Seuss's _Hop on Pop_ out of the bag, currently one of his favorite books because it was easier than usual to read by himself. " _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_." He turned the page. " _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_..." After a few pages, he realized that the man was asleep. "Daddy?"

Daddy didn't answer. He was quiet, eyes closed, breathing gently. He looked very, very tired. _"Quiet,"_ [ _warble_ ] whispered in bird language. He put the book down and laid his cheek against Daddy's chest. His heart beat big and quiet and comforting. "Hmmm."

He was right. He was _right_ , and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was wrong. Daddy was not Master. Daddy was safe, he trusted [ _warble_ ], he loved the flock and fed them and protected them and taught them good things. If [ _warble_ ] curled up here where it was warm and safe and quiet, nothing bad would happen, _because Daddy was here_. Daddy didn't do bad things. Maybe annoying things or scary seatbelt things, but no bad things.

So [ _warble_ ] fell asleep, because it was okay and it was safe.

TBC

A/N: For those who can't read the prequel, all three boys used to dream about Alfred during their captivity. (I originally meant it to be Earth -22 Alfred's ghost doing what little he can for the poor kids being held captive in his house, but that bothered me too much for religious reasons [in reality, "ghosts" are actually demons pretending to be dead humans for the purpose of deceiving living humans]. I now lean toward the idea that it was Prime Earth Alfred somehow connecting to the birds through their dreams.)


	28. Chapter 15, Part 1

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 15.1 (rough draft 2)**

Bruce jolted awake to the sound of screeching birds coming from a far corner behind a shelf. Neither Jack nor Dick were anywhere in sight, though a startled-looking Damian was hurrying down one of the library ladders as his cat fled the room.

They rushed toward the sound of the disturbance, where they found Jack trapped. Peter was sitting on him and John was pinning his hands, their bodies in animalistic poses like dogs cornering a kitten. Their faces were twisted with fury as they screamed at their younger brother, who was screaming back with tears streaming down his face.

"Stop this at once, you little savages!" Damian shouted, and was ignored.

"GET OFF OF HIM." At Bruce's bellow, John and Peter fled. Jack, still sobbing, lifted his arms to his father, and was immediately picked up and comforted. "What _happened_?" Bruce demanded of Damian.

"I don't know! They were perfectly fine when Grayson left us. I didn't even see them approach him."

Bruce turned his eyes to his youngest child and gentled his voice. "Jack, are you all right?"

 _"They mad at me!"_

"Did they hurt you?" He set the little boy down and examined him closely for injuries. He had a few scratches, but nothing serious. "What happened? Why did they do that to you?"

 _"WRONG brothers! I good boy, they bad boys!"_

Which was not exactly helpful. "Damian, take him for a minute, I have to find the others."

"Nno, Daddy!" Jack begged, clinging to him when Bruce tried to leave. "Daddy ss'tay!"

"Damian will protect you. I have to talk to your brothers."

Jack suddenly went quiet and solemn. _"Brothers good boys, good boys, Daddy, no hurt."_

"Jack, they attacked you. That is not acceptable. I have to teach them that hurting family is wrong." Damian squirmed a bit.

 _"Not hurt, good boys, good me, happy."_ In direct contrast to his last sign, Jack looked nervous.

Bruce exhaled. "Let's go find Dick."

Dick was in his room, chatting on the phone and carelessly tossing items in the general direction of an open suitcase. His face changed when he saw Bruce and Damian grimly marching in with a teary Jack huddled in Bruce's arms. "Crap, I have to go. I'll call you back later." He tapped to end the call in almost the same movement he used to toss his phone on the bed, and reached to stroke a hand over Jack's head soothingly. "What happened, Jackie?"

"[ _chirp-chirp_ ] [ _caw_ ] mmean to me," Jack said dolefully.

Bruce decided he was fine if he was able to ham it up like this. "The others attacked him, I don't know why." He transferred the little boy into Dick's arms. "I have to track them down and deal with this. Watch Jack for me."

"Damian can watch Jack," Dick pointed out in his 'stop making me do your job' voice.

"He doesn't want me," Damian said sourly, and Dick's face softened.

"Jack, are you being mean to Dami?"

"Nnoo!"

Bruce left them and followed the trackers until he found John and Peter huddled in a niche off the hall, twittering intently to each other. They didn't notice Bruce until he was blocking their escape, and it disturbed him that they reacted by Peter curling into a defensive ball and John planting himself protectively in front of him.

"Boys, I will not hit you. If I punish you, it will not be with hitting, and you will still have food. I need to know why you attacked your brother."

They stared at him, making no attempt at a response.

"Why did you hurt Jack?"

 _"...No hurt him,"_ John finally signed.

"You were angry at him. Why were you angry?"

 _"Not angry."_ John smiled as if to prove it. The smile, too wide and Joker-like, was not in the least convincing.

"Why did you pull Jack behind the shelf? Why did you hold him down? Why did you shout at him?"

There was a pause. _"Bad me,"_ John said, looking resigned rather than repentant.

"You're not answering my question. _Why_ were you angry at Jack?"

Peter twittered something.

 _"..._ Jjj'ackk _say bad things to me,"_ John said. _"I angry, hurt him. You angry."_

"I will not hit you, even if I am angry. What did Jack say that upset you?"

John looked blank until Peter twittered some more.

 _"He say I stupid bad. I angry, hurt him."_

"Peter, are you coaching him?"

 _"Good me,"_ Peter signed immediately.

"Are you telling John what to say? Are you two lying to me?"

They were both extremely tense. _"...Bad me, bad me, bad me,"_ John insisted. Peter looked like a deer in headlights.

"John, are you trying to get me to punish you so that I won't hurt Peter?"

John gave up all pretense and covered his brother's body with his own, lifting an arm to protect his head. Peter whimpered fearfully.

Bruce was exasperated. "I _will not_ hit you. I will not hit either of you. It doesn't matter how badly you misbehave or how angry I am, I _will not_ hit you, do you hear me? I just need to _understand_."

John didn't move. Peter suddenly bolted, and fought and screamed when he was caught. John was instantly snarling and clawing at Bruce, who had to let Peter escape in order to defend himself. He got John into a restraining hold, grasping the boy's wrists and crossing his arms over his chest firmly enough to immobilize him but not tight enough to hurt. The boy, though still tense, stopped fighting and went still.

"...John."

" _crow_ "

"I will let you go, but if you try to hurt me or run, I will hold you like this again. If you stay still so I can talk to you, I will not hold you like this anymore. Do you understand?"

"..."

Very cautiously, Bruce let go. John dropped his arms and didn't move or speak. Bruce gently took hold of his shoulders to turn him around and felt a sick jolt when he saw the Joker smile on his son's face. "John."

" _crow_ "

"Johnny, don't smile like that." Hesitantly, as if afraid he would break him, Bruce set his hands on John's face and gently rubbed his thumbs over the boy's cheeks until John's smile finally eased into a more natural expression. It was one that was difficult to read, intent but with no discernible emotion. "...John."

" _crow_ "

"Don't do that. Use human words."

After a long time, John finally raised his hands. _"Do something."_

"I am waiting for _you_. Tell me why you attacked Jack."

 _"Bad me."_

"No. You're a good boy, I know you love your brothers and you have reasons for what you do. Why did you attack Jack? Whatever the reason is, I won't get angry. I just want to know."

After a pause, John's mouth stretched into a defiant smile. _If you want that, you're going to have to beat it out of me._

Bruce's mouth tightened. He reminded himself that he had promised to not get angry. "Fine. Since you're being rebellious, I'm going to take one of your toys away for a while. I will keep taking more until you decide to tell me." He took the boy firmly by the hand and led him to Dick's room. John went along quietly until they reached the threshold, where he suddenly stopped and went stiff. Jack, who'd been rambling to his big brother, gasped and hid behind Dick. Damian had already left.

"I have to find Peter," Bruce said shortly. "John wouldn't tell me anything; see if you can get more out of him, Dick." He pushed John a few steps farther into the room, perhaps not as gently as he should have, and left again.

Dick looked at John, who was staring intently at the cowering Jack. "Are you giving Bruce a hard time, Johnny?"

 _"[warble]."_

 _"Can't hurt me can't hurt me [big chirp-chirp] protect me!"_ Jack twittered frantically.

John cocked his head. "...Dd'kk."

Dick was starting to feel uneasy. "Yeah?"

 _"Him asleep, alone,_ Bbooss."

"Yeah, I saw. It was cute."

Something in John's expression shut down. "Mmmm," he realized.

 _"Me him right, you [caw] wrong,"_ Jack twittered, his voice shaking slightly.

John's birdsong was quiet. _"No. [big chirp-chirp] Laughs."_ Jack sobbed. _"Me and [caw] won't let you Laugh, too. Later,"_ he promised ominously. He crossed the room and made a show of playing with Dick's luggage while Jack cried.

"Okay, Dickie, listen, cut it out," Dick said. "Jack is your baby brother. It's your job to take care of him, not scare him and hurt him."

John flashed a very pretty smile. _"Yes~!"_ Jack whimpered at the coldness of his eyes.

"So why are you and Peter ganging up on him and bullying him?"

 _"We protect baby."_

"You say that, but Jack looks like he doesn't feel safe with you at all."

 _"Sad."_

"Come on, Dickie, I'm _you_. I know when you're full of crap."

 _"Poop you,"_ John pouted, finally dropping the cutesy act but still refusing to explain.

Bruce's footsteps sounded outside, heavy with displeasure, and he leaned into the room. "Peter's hiding with Duke; I didn't make any headway with him, either. Boys, come here - let's see if we can get some lessons in before dinner."

For the first time, the three children were not acting in solidarity. They worked on their lessons and practiced with utensils during dinner and behaved themselves, but there was a tension between them. The older two had the air of cats patiently stalking their prey, even while they worked, and kept stealing intent glances at their younger brother. Jack was nervous, keeping his distance from the other birds and clinging to the nearest adult whenever his brothers made a move or a look that was a little too threatening.

"Looks like I packed my bags too early," Dick sighed.

"Are you staying another night?" Bruce asked, carefully keeping all trace of relief out of his voice.

"Guess so."

Afterward, as the children were getting ready for bed in their own room, Jack disappeared into the shower stall like it was a refuge, and the older boys were less playful in the bath than usual. The children were helped into their pajamas and pointedly sat on opposite sides of Dick while he read to them.

"'' _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_ ,'" Dick finished, and closed the book.

Peter made a questioning, melodic sound.

"You know," Dick said coolly, "since certain little birds aren't being very nice tonight, I don't really feel like singing."

Jack made a small hurt sound and Peter hissed in displeasure, but John looked Dick right in the eye and lifted his chin defiantly.

Dick huffed out a breath. "Dang, it really _is_ annoying being on the other side of it..." He started to leave the room and paused when he passed Bruce, who had been watching from the armchair near the door. "I don't feel comfortable letting them sleep together when they're like this," he murmured.

Jack was already huddled on the edge of the bed, gazing fearfully at his brothers, who were crouched in a tangle together and fixing him with those eerie hunting cat gazes.

"I'll figure something out. Don't let it keep you from patrol if you want to go."

Once Dick was gone, Bruce called Duke, the only household member who'd be available to help him with this. The teen had warmed up to the birds enough that he agreed to stay in the children's room for the night, and he soon came in with a backpack full of things to work on until he felt like going to sleep.

"Thanks for keeping an eye on them," Bruce said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'll take Jack tonight. Dick might be able to relieve you when he comes in from patrol."

"It's fine," Duke said easily. "No point in waking up at four in the morning or whatever. I don't mind sleeping in here."

"All right. Call me if there's any trouble." He went over and took Jack by the hand. The little boy immediately scooted out of bed and trotted along with him to the door.

John and Peter climbed off the bed to follow them.

"No," Bruce said. "You two will sleep in here tonight, with Duke. Jack will sleep with me."

 _"No,"_ John signed.

"Yes," Bruce said forcefully. "You're staying here. Get back into bed."

Peter slowly sat back on the bed. John looked like he was deciding whether to obey or not.

"Or," Bruce suggested, "Duke can take Jack with him back to his room, and I'll sleep in here tonight."

John and Peter both scrambled to get under the covers.

"Good. Good night, boys. I'll see you tomorrow." He felt the children's eyes on his back even after he was several steps down the hall.

In the bathroom of the master suite, Jack watched him getting ready for bed. _"You good Daddy?"_ he asked.

"I'm doing my best."

 _"You hurt us?"_

"I will never hurt you like the Man Who Laughs did. ...I hate him."

 _"Me too,"_ Jack said in satisfaction. _"You love me?"_

"Yes."

Jack hopped a little in excitement. _"I good they bad, yes!"_

"Jack, your brothers are not bad. It was wrong of them to mistreat you, but I want all three of you to know that you are good boys and I love you."

 _"I love Daddy."_

"Jack, why did John and Peter attack you?"

 _"They scared. They say I scared. WRONG."_

Bruce suppressed a sigh at how unhelpful the answer was again. "Why are they afraid?"

 _"Bad Laugh Man."_

"I'm not him."

 _"Yes."_

"Do they still think I'm him?"

 _"You not him."_

"Do they still think I'll hurt them?"

 _"You not hurt."_

"But do they _think_ I will?"

 _"Stupid brothers."_

"Jack, don't call your brothers stupid." Even if John and Peter still thought that Bruce would hurt them the way their abuser had, it didn't explain why they had and were still threatening to attack _Jack_ , who surely couldn't have done anything to hurt them. He wished he knew how to ask it in a way that would get him answers.

When Bruce was finished in the bathroom and turned out the light, Jack climbed onto his bed rather than the nest in the corner. Bruce lay down a prudent distance away, but Jack crawled right up to him and snuggled against him, as he was accustomed to doing with his brothers. "Good night, Jack," Bruce murmured, tugging the blanket up to cover him better.

"Ggoonnai, Daddy," the boy mumbled back, and was asleep within minutes. Bruce laid a soft kiss against his hair and soon fell asleep, too.

He woke up a couple of hours later because of his phone chiming with a Bat-related notification from one of his agents in the field. The matter was quickly resolved, and he soon set his phone back down.

Bruce found himself staring at the sleeping child at his side, wondering at how tiny and trusting he was. Bruce loved all his children and would do anything for them, but the feeling didn't often strike him as deeply as it did now. He was nearly overwhelmed by how precious Jack was to him in that moment. He found himself hovering, almost encircling the little boy in a vague, dragonish effort to protect or claim him, yet also not daring to touch him and accidentally wake him.

Jack suddenly stiffened in his sleep, then whimpered and kicked a little. Bruce made shushing sounds which seemed to help for a minute or two, then Jack suddenly gasped and jerked awake. Finding himself in bed with Bruce rather than in a nest with his flockmates, he scrambled away and stared.

"It's all right, Jack. You're safe. It was only a nightmare."

"D-Daddy?" the boy quavered.

There was already a night light glowing on the wall near the floor, but Bruce reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. "Yes, it's me. You're safe."

Jack stared at him for a long moment. _"Good Daddy?"_

"I'm here."

 _"Don't hurt me."_

"I will not. Do you want to move to the other bed?" He indicated the mattress in the corner that the boys usually used when they slept in his room.

"N...Nnoo," Jack said uncertainly.

"Do you want to talk about your dream?"

Jack shook his head vehemently.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry someone hurt you so badly that you have nightmares about it."

 _"...Sing?"_

"Lie back down, and I will."

After a moment, Jack set his head on a pillow and watched as Bruce sang "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" to him. Before the end of the song, Jack's eyes fluttered closed, and he was soon asleep again, if not as much at ease as he had been before. _'Mine,'_ Bruce caught himself thinking, again in that dragonish way.

TBC


	29. Chapter 15, Part 2

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 15.2 (rough draft 2)**

Bruce got back to sleep as well, but was woken again after midnight, this time by Dick shaking his shoulder. A worried-looking Duke was standing behind him. "What happened?" Bruce demanded.

Dick jerked his head at Jack in a 'don't wake him up' gesture. Bruce got out of bed, picked up his phone, and led the way into the bathroom, where he shut the door and turned on the light.

"The birds are missing," Dick said. "I looked in on the kids when I came back from patrol, but they're not in their room."

"They were there when I went to bed," Duke said, his voice tight with anxiety. "They snuck off while I was asleep."

Bruce was already tapping to access his tracker program. "What were they doing when you went to bed? Were they sleeping?"

"Peter was. John was awake, but he seemed fine, not upset or anything. He was just sitting there."

Duke was smart, but he hadn't spent as much time with the children as Bruce and Dick had, he might not have been paying close attention to the birds' tiny tells and nuances of expression or body language, and he didn't have the insider's perspective that Dick did of his alternate self. _'My fault,'_ Bruce thought, _'my fault, I should have left Jack with Duke and taken the older boys with me-'_

Bruce stared at the screen. According to his phone, John's and Peter's trackers were very close, in Bruce's bedroom.

Dick threw a sharp look at the closed bathroom door. There was only silence from the other side of it, but-

Bruce thrust open the door and then panicked for a moment when he saw the bed empty and the sheets rumpled as if from a struggle. Surely someone couldn't have broken in and kidnapped his son in such a short time, with no sound; had the Owls-?!

Dick, diving around to look on the other side of the bed, practically shrieked in horror, "STOP!"

Bruce was at his side in an instant and caught a glimpse of the older birds before they fled. They had their younger brother trapped on the floor again, this time with Peter pressing both his hands over Jack's mouth. John had a hand and a knee pinning the smaller child's arms and was digging the fingernails of his free hand into Jack's throat. Jack's eyes were wide with terror and streaming tears as his captors whispered fiercely to him.

When they ran, Dick went after them, and Bruce went straight for Jack. "Turn on the light," he thundered at Duke as he gathered the little boy into his arms, then, distractedly, "Sorry." Duke, who was hurrying to obey, had done nothing to deserve getting yelled at.

Jack was so upset that he couldn't speak, either out loud or silently. The marks from John's fingertips were a little red, but hopefully wouldn't bruise. Jack clung to his father, shaking and choking out sobs, and Bruce wished that there were bad guys to punch.

Dick caught up with the boys in their room, where Peter clawed at the window as if trying to get out, and John whirled to face his older counterpart and sign furiously. _"You Bad Laugh [chirp-chirp], yes? Laugh you hurt us tie us, you and Bat, you love him you break us you eat us-"_

Dick, trying not to let his own fury overtake him, replied mostly in sign language. _"Why do you think that, what did I do? I'm ANGRY that you say I'm like Bad Laugh Man!"_

 _"Him, us, you love HIM, not us!"_ Tears of rage were starting to spill down John's cheeks.

 _"I can love both! Both, BOTH! You attack someone I love, you rip_ _my_ _heart, too, you brat I'm so ANGRY at you!"_

John's rage turned icy. _"Bat yours, you love Bat you keep him; baby OURS, give him to us we leave we free!"_

"You _are_ free!" Dick cried out loud. "Dammit, why can't I make you understand that?! You are _fucking safe_ here, Dick, all three of you, the fucker who hurt you is _dead_ , Bruce would _never_ treat you like he did! He loves you. Bruce fu- freaking loves you just as much as Mom and Dad did."

Dick was crying by now. Peter had hidden and was watching the confrontation warily; John was unmoved. "Bruce _is_ my dad now. He's yours, too; God..." He drew in a shaky breath, trying to calm himself. "Whatever; screw me and screw Bruce. What the _frick_ are you and Peter doing to Jack? He's a _fricking baby_. If you touch him like that again, Bruce won't hit you but _I_ might; dammit, John!"

 _"...That Bat say 'Good me good me,' I say 'Yes maybe?' He hurt me. Rip me, I die; he's not good he's BAD. This Bat say 'Good me good me,' me Fight Brother say no, we smart, we safe - Trick Brother say 'Yes I love you,' STUPID; Bat hurt him rip him."_

Dick wanted to tear out his hair in frustration. John was clearly never going to take people's word about Bruce again, so he'd have to try a different tack. "You want to protect Jack? You want to keep him safe?"

 _"Yes!"_

"Well, you're _failing_. You scared the hell out of him, so he doesn't want to be anywhere near you anymore. Let's say Bruce does go crazy and tries to hurt him - you think Jack's going to let you save him? You think Jack will let you get close enough to help? Or will he scream when he sees you, because now you scare him just as much as Laughs did?"

At last, John was staring to look uneasy, and Peter shuffled in his hiding spot.

"Do you two know what it's like to be held down so you can't move, and gagged so you can't speak or scream, and forced to do things you don't want to do-?"

 _"STOP!"_

"You know how it feels. That's what you did to [ _warble_ ]." He approximated the sound of Jack's bird name as best he could. "You made your baby brother feel the same way the Man Who Laughs made you feel. You're no better than your abuser."

Horror was dawning on John's face, and Peter cried out.

"Don't go hug him," Dick said quickly. "Jack's afraid of you now. If you come running at him, he'll think you're attacking him again. You have to be freaking _gentle_ with him!"

John started clawing at his own scalp.

"Johnny...stop, stop, it's not your fault." The anger drained away and Dick struggled to stop John from hurting himself. "You didn't realize, I know you love Jack, he'll forgive you. Johnny, stop that. Look at me. It's okay."

John's face was anguished, tears leaking out of his eyes. _"Hit me."_

"N-" Except Dick knew the feeling. He needed to be punished in a way he understood, or the guilt would eat him alive.

He considered a moment, then reached out with just enough force to be rough without causing pain or harm. He dragged John to the floor and pinned him like John himself had done to Jack, fingertips lightly pressing into the underside of his jaw to emphasize the vulnerability. Dick was fully prepared to rock back if necessary and apologize if he'd miscalculated, but John's only reaction was to close his eyes in submission.

"Hurting family is _wrong_. We do not hurt people weaker than us, do you understand?"

 _"Yes yes yes,"_ John crooned in bird language, relaxing, tears still spilling from his eyes.

"Are you going to hurt our little brother again?"

 _"No...no...!"_

"I don't know bird words, Johnny. Look at me." He shifted so that his hands were braced on the floor instead, and John cautiously cracked open his eyes. "Your brothers gave you a sign name that means 'Protector,' because they trust you. And you're not going to let them down again, right? Hurting and scaring Jack won't protect him."

John slowly raised his hands to sign. _"I love Trick Brother. I pet him gentle, no hurt."_

"Good." He reached to wipe the tears from the boy's face, and John hurriedly sat up. They looked at each other for a long moment.

 _"...You hate me?"_

"No, no no no of course not," Dick murmured, pulling John into his arms for a hug. "You're _my_ baby brother. You're the one _I'd_ do anything to protect."

 _"...Big brother protect baby, baby protect more little baby..."_

"You got it," Dick murmured, kissing the side of his head. After a moment, he looked over at Peter, who hissed and backed a step toward the toy box he'd been hiding behind. He clearly did _not_ want to be pinned and scolded. "Pete, are you going to be super-nice and sweet to Jack now, or do we still have a problem?"

 _"Don't touch me!"_

"I won't hurt you. Are you going to hurt Jackie?"

 _"...Bad Laugh Me."_

"You're a good big brother, so I know you're not going to act like that anymore."

 _"No more!"_

"Good."

 _"Don't hurt scare Trick Brother. I am not Bat!"_

"Right. ...Also, Peter, I used some bad words a few minutes ago, and, um, that means I'm not going to get dessert. Don't use bad words like your dumb big brother, okay?"

 _"Bad words._ Fffu-"

"If you say those words, Grandpa will be sad," Dick tried.

 _"...No sad Grandpa._ Fffi'kk," Peter said instead, making Dick laugh.

"Oh, baby Jay..."

He took them both by the hand and led them back to the master suite, where Jack had recovered enough to tell Bruce and Duke how upset he was. When the three of them appeared in the doorway, Jack wailed and ducked behind Bruce, who pushed him over into Duke's arms before standing up thunderously.

"I took care of it," Dick said quickly, stepping forward and spreading his arms a little to shield the children behind him. "They know they were wrong, and they're going to be good now."

 _"[warble],"_ John quavered, _"wrong me bad me punish me, you little protect I'm sorry, very much a lot sorry!"_

 _"You hurt me mad at me!"_

 _"No no no sorry sorry sorry!"_

 _"I say good soft smile, you pin me bite me hurt me!"_

 _"NO!_ _I_ _say good soft smile!"_

 _"Liar!"_

John rushed - at Bruce, to everyone's surprise; flung his arms around the man's neck, pressed his mouth to Bruce's hair in the same way the people here did to mean _'innocent affection,'_ gazed into his eyes and said, in a way that seemed like he meant something very different than his actual words, "Iii ll...llluubb Dd-" He had to sob before he could finish. "Ddddaddyy."

Bruce and Dick felt a chill at how much John was sacrificing to make amends with his little brother, and Duke was confused at the mixed signals, but Jack took it at face value.

 _"Daddy? Daddy? He Daddy not Master?"_

 _"Yes, yes, [warble] very right, always right,"_ John crooned.

Jack started to cry in relief. _"[chirp-chirp] not mad at me not hurt me?"_

 _"[warble] hurt me, yes?"_ John offered, now daring to creep toward his smallest brother.

Jack hurriedly reached toward him with his hands first, ready to push him away at the first sign of trouble, but John willingly lowered beneath the light pressure, curled up at the younger boy's side, and laid a hand over his knee that was protective and affectionate without being controlling. Jack hunched over him, clutching him. _"My good thing,"_ he whispered.

 _"Your good thing,"_ John yielded, relishing his re-won physical proximity. So easy, now, if anything bad happened, to simply stretch out and shield the smaller body under his own, or to fight any danger before it could reach his treasure. No more fear or retreating or struggling, [ _warble_ ] trusted him again. [big _chirp-chirp_ ] had been right. [ _warble_ ] was still stupid, but safe now.

Peter, meanwhile, had started pacing restlessly, not looking at Jack as he mumbled in a mix of bird language and sign, _"Angry and scared, sometimes birds do bad things, lots of Laughing and screaming and hurting, maybe big birds should not hurt little birds, this is bad, [big chirp-chirp] says things I don't like but baby is scared/mad I don't like that too, I will not punish baby anymore? [warble] is mad at me, I don't like it; [chirp-chirp] give himself to Bat, now I am all alone, I DO NOT give to Bat do not say I love you but I want [warble], he fly away from me but I want him here again..."_

 _"Daddy is not Master?"_ [ _warble_ ] ventured.

 _"MAYBE / MAYBE NOT, YOU DON'T TELL ME!"_ [ _caw_ ] yelled.

 _"YOU DON'T TELL_ _ME_ _!"_ [ _warble_ ] yelled back.

 _"Hush quiet safe peace,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] crooned. _" 'Daddy' yes, 'Daddy' no, me and [caw] gentle both."_

 _"Yes,"_ [ _caw_ ] grumblingly agreed.

 _"[caw] pet me gentle?"_

 _"Yes yes yes bad me!"_ [ _caw_ ] sulked.

 _"[caw] hate me?"_

 _"NO!"_

 _"Why you angry!"_

 _"ANGRY AT BAT NOT YOU!"_

 _"...Oh."_

[ _caw_ ] whirled and bounded over to him, crying, and [ _warble_ ] flinched but then relaxed when he was only hugged. _"Mine,"_ [ _caw_ ] claimed him.

 _"Mine,"_ [ _warble_ ] claimed both his flockmates.

 _"Yes,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] chirred, relieved.

There was a long, content silence. "Ssoooo," Duke finally said, watching the little cuddlefest, "it's over?"

"We'll take it from here," Bruce murmured. "You can go on back to bed."

"Okay. 'Night, everyone." Duke paused, looking at the clock. "Or...good morning, I guess." He left the room, and Dick groaned.

"Uuuuggghhh, I am so tired..."

"Where are you going to sleep?" Bruce asked.

Dick eyed the children, whom he still didn't quite trust even though they were being sweet again. "You know what, I think I'm going to sleep right _here_." He strode across the room and lay across the kids' mattress.

The birds stared at him, then scrambled off Bruce's bed and trotted to their nest. "Dd'kk hherre? Dd'kk hherre?"

 _"Our bed!"_

"Yeah? Well, kick me out if you don't like it," Dick half-teased, having no intention of moving. After a moment, Peter flopped heavily on top of him. " _Oof_!"

 _"Okay,"_ John decided, and snuggled along Dick's side.

Jack crouched down, considering. Then he trotted back over to the big bed and climbed up beside Bruce. His brothers called to him in distress, but he only hugged Bruce in defiance and challenge. After a long pause, John compromised - he crept across the floor and crouched at the foot of Bruce's bed. After a twittered exchange with Peter, all three children settled down, Jack with Bruce and Peter with Dick and John keeping watch.

Even though the others soon dropped off, Bruce was pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to sleep with John's eyes boring _'If you hurt my little brother I'll kill you'_ holes into him. He got up, fetched a spare blanket from his closet, and brought it over to John, who flinched away from him.

"It's all right." Moving slowly and carefully, he draped the blanket over the boy, who immediately shrugged it off with a defiant look. "That's fine, but it's there if you need it later." He moved a pillow down to John as well, then climbed back into bed beside Jack and was surprised, in looking back on it, that he eventually did fall asleep.

TBC


	30. Chapter 16

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 16 (rough draft 2)**

They all slept until late the next morning, and Bruce was the first one awake, for once. Peter was the one on 'guard duty,' lounging on a window seat as he talked softly to his favorite stuffed animal, Dog. He glanced over at Bruce when the man stirred, but didn't seem alarmed.

Dick was still dead to the world, sprawled across the children's bed; Jack was drooling in his sleep. John, also asleep, was curled up in the blanket Bruce had given him, and was hugging the pillow like it was a teddy bear. Bruce resisted the impulse to stroke his hair.

He went instead to the bathroom to shower, then checked the bedroom afterward to find that Dick had not moved; Peter was now pressed against the window, imitating the sounds of the actual birds outside; and the other children were stirring. Bruce left the bathroom door open and finished readying himself for the day.

By the time he came out, the Robins were a little more lively, twittering to each other as they played some sort of game with the bedding, rolling through it or holding it up in tent-like shapes. They froze when they noticed Bruce watching them. _"Seatbelts?"_

Bruce hesitated. They picked up on it at once, Jack cranking up the puppy eyes and the other two going tense. "I..."

"Ppweese, Daddy?" Jack quavered in such a small, pitch-perfect, heartrending tone that it had to be on purpose.

 _'Little brat.'_ Bruce could still feel himself falling for it, despite being aware of the manipulation. Dick and even Jason used to do the same thing when they were young; Tim had occasionally done it unintentionally. _'They did have a rough night...'_ He sighed. "Tomorrow. Not today."

All three boys crowed in delight, startling Dick awake. Peter leaped victoriously and John launched into a back handspring, then looked so shocked at what he'd just done that he stumbled on the landing and fell back into an almost-as-shocked Dick's arms. "Johnnyyyyy! _Stretch_ first next time, but that was awesome!"

 _"I jump,"_ John signed faintly.

"Gah, you should have done that two days ago! We are totally having a gymnastics fest next time I come!"

Bruce led the children to their room to get them dressed, and Dick parted from them in the hall, saying dryly, "Packing my bags, Take 2."

Alfred, as usual on days when most of the family slept late, had gone out to run errands and left their breakfast on food warmers in the dining room. Tim and Damian were both there, sitting in thankfully companionable silence, Tim nursing a cup of coffee as he scrolled through the news and Damian taking bites of granola in between practicing ASL (which he hurriedly stopped when Bruce and the children came in).

"Are you going to work today, Tim?" Bruce asked, noting the young man's business suit.

"Just for a couple of hours. I'm going to get back to a five- or six-day work week starting tomorrow."

It was an improvement over the seven-day schedule Tim had been doing between the apocalypse and his meltdown, so Bruce grunted in mild approval as he got the children settled. "Oh - Tim, before I forget again, what do you want to do this evening?"

Tim frowned in confusion. "What?"

"For your- I meant it to be yesterday, but there was the alien invasion, and..." Bruce put a morsel of food on Peter's plate, trying to juggle feeding the birds with talking to Tim. Jack, as he'd started doing more openly in the past several days when he realized he wasn't going to be punished for it, was happily taking photos of almost every piece of food that he received. "Anyway, it got pushed back to tonight instead. What would you like me to do with you?"

"You mean _Dad Night_? I thought that was for Damian and Duke."

Damian looked up, his eyes narrowed.

"It's for all my children who still live at home. Not counting the little ones, since they see me all day."

"Technically, I wasn't living at ho- At the manor until your Batpocalypse destroyed my apartment. I just haven't had time to set up a new place."

"Never refer to anything about that incident as 'mine' again," Bruce grumbled, then paused. "Except the Robins. They're mine. But that's it. And since you haven't yet established a new residence, you are currently living in the manor, which means you get a...designated night."

Tim shook his head, as a complicated series of emotions crossed Damian's face. "I'll pass. I'm _really_ busy, I probably wouldn't have had time for it even if you'd given me better warning."

"Then I'll help you with your work."

"Bruce, _no_. It'll take _longer_ if I have to catch you up on everything. Seriously, I am 100% fine not getting a Dad Night."

Bruce looked at him closely. "You're sure?"

"Yes," Tim said, avoiding eye contact for a split second before falling back on Bat training to be convincing. If not for that split second, even Bruce would have thought him completely sincere. "Give my night to Damian or something, he'll eat it up."

"Hnn."

Damian spoke up, sounding indignant. "While I agree that I am entitled to more of Father's time, I object to your condescending tone, Drake."

"What else is new, Damian," Tim sighed.

By the tail end of the children's meal, Tim had already left for work and Damian for training. Dick came striding in, leaving his backpack and suitcase by the entryway so he could grab some food.

"At least sit down to eat," Bruce said.

"I meant to leave yesterday morning! I've got soooo much stuff piling up at home, I'm itching to get back."

The children stared in wide-eyed, unhappy confusion as Dick grabbed a wad of napkins to wrap some food in. "D'kk? D'kk?"

"I love you forever and ever, baby birds," Dick said, pausing to kiss them. "I'll come back in maybe a week or so, okay?"

John grabbed a handful of his shirt. "Sss'tttayy."

 _"You leave?! You leave?! NO!"_ Jack signed. Peter looked outraged.

"Kiddos, I don't actually live here, you know. I have work to do in Blüdhaven, and you've got lots of interesting things to keep you busy here with Bruce."

 _"[big chirp-chirp] is leaving,"_ Peter said in bird language. _"Leaving us AGAIN."_

 _"No,"_ John twittered coldly. _"Never."_

Dick's eyes widened when he realized they were shifting into something close to Monsterbird Mode. "Oh...crap."

He knew he didn't have time to run. He could tell from their body language that Jack was going to get behind him and make him fall when Peter went for his legs and John went for the rest of him. He tried to flip out of the way before they could strike, but they were so _fast_ \- one of them managed to catch at his foot in midair, knocking him off-balance; then another one, John, probably, anticipated his recovery move and snagged him _again_ , sending him crashing to the floor.

They swarmed him, digging their fingers painfully into him like claws, and dragged him to the closest defensible corner. He barely had time to struggle; within five seconds of their first pounce, he was pinned by the full weight of a nine-year-old kneeling on his chest and an eight-year-old sitting on his stomach and a six-year-old lying on his legs.

"Get off of him!"

Dazed and winded, Dick shifted his head and found Bruce storming toward them. The children screamed in fear and fury, poising to fight, arching their backs in a way that would have flared their wings if they had any. If Bruce responded badly in the heat of the moment, his already fragile relationship with the older birds would shatter. John and Peter might never trust him again. "No, Bruce!" That was all Dick could say without desperate gasping. Bruce froze, visibly fighting for self-control.

Dick pulled at John's legs until the boy abruptly shifted; his knees now pinned Dick's arms to his sides instead of cutting off his breath. Dick gratefully gulped in air.

 _"Mine mine mine mine mine mine mine,"_ John hissed.

"Are you hurt?" Bruce asked tersely.

"No, I'm fine, give me a minute." Dick took another breath. "Johnny. Dick, look at me."

John's eyes slid toward his brothers, who had fixed Bruce with feral glares, then grudgingly dropped to Dick.

"Johnny, remember how we _just talked about_ not hurting family?"

The boy seized Dick's head and gripped tightly, making him gasp in pain. John's eyes were as blue as Dick's, but there was an unnatural ring of gold around the pupils. Dick had seen it before, all three of the children had it, but the Robin's stare when he was in this mood was frighteningly mesmerizing. "Yyyoouu hhhuhtt usss!" He forced out more words that Dick managed to decipher as _Big birds do not hurt little birds, but you leave us HURT!_ John gasped with the effort of so much speaking and raised his head to crow furiously.

"Johnny...I can't stay with you forever."

John's expression turned cold. He sat back, his weight forcing air out of Dick's lungs again, and signed, _"We eat you."_

"That will...make...Alfred sad," Dick wheezed.

"Dick-" Bruce started.

"Hold on!"

"No! John, Peter, Jack, if you don't let him go _right now_ , I'm going to- I'll take your phone away, Jack; Peter, no sweets; John, I'll...take your yellow jacket away." Jack and Peter looked displeased but not in the least inclined to back down, and John was completely unmoved.

 _"You stay?"_ John demanded of Dick.

"You gonna let me go?"

 _"You stand up, you stay?"_

It would do more harm than good to lie. "...I know you don't like it, and I'm sorry, but I'm going back to Blüdhaven, Johnny." Then he cried out when John slammed a hand to his face, nails resting perilously close to his eye.

 _"Our thing our thing keep it safe,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] twittered.

 _"Hurting him scaring him,"_ [ _warble_ ] ventured in a tiny voice.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] moved his hands to press against their captive's chest, gauging his heartbeat. It was faster than usual, but not too much; no tears; the tense muscles and unhappy expression were mostly in protest rather than fear. _"Not scared."_

[ _warble_ ] laid his head down in relief and hugged [big _chirp-chirp_ ]'s legs tighter.

"Okay," Dick said, squirming in an attempt to find a position where he could breathe more easily, "let's talk about this, like people. John, let me up, I just want to talk."

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] knew that [big _chirp-chirp_ ] would not flee when he was released. He also knew that [big _chirp-chirp_ ] _would_ walk away eventually, would think that the "Sorry"s and "I love you"s were enough to keep the flock still until he left and never came back. He didn't want them. He _said_ he loved them, but he loved other flocks more, the traitor wanted to abandon not-his babies to die without him.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] scratched a shallow mark into the older bird's neck. _"Ours, you bad thing."_

Bruce had enough. He strode forward to physically pull the children away, but they screeched and reared up threateningly, causing Dick even more pain. Peter swiped viciously in warning.

"Bruce, no! _No_ , you're making it worse!"

Bruce loomed over them, hands flexing as he fought with himself about whether to seize them or not. John and Peter looked like they'd tear his eyes out if he tried. "Get off," he growled in his Batman voice.

Jack flinched and Peter hissed; John simply glared back. _"Hello Bad Laugh Man."_

"DON'T CALL ME THAT."

The younger two cringed down, but even intimidated, they only dug their claws into Dick all the harder. John didn't move, but his knowing _'There you are at last'_ expression was the worst of all.

"I'm _not him_. I'm trying to help Dick because you are HURTING HIM."

John signed resentfully, _"You hurt us, he hurt us. We hurt you. I understand."_

"No, that is _not_ how this family works. No one here is a prisoner. You are not prisoners, and Dick is not a prisoner - if he wants to leave this house, he's _allowed_ to."

An incredulous expression broke across John's face, then fragile hope. Both Bruce and Dick were too quick to think it was almost over, because the next thing John signed made their hearts fall. _"We leave?_ [big _chirp-chirp_ ] _take us away we leave bad house?! AWAY?!"_

"I- It's...it's Dick who can leave. He's an adult. You three are still children, you can't..."

Bruce threw a helpless glance at Dick, who looked stricken as he whispered, "I couldn't raise three kids on my own. Not outside the manor, not anytime soon."

John's face smoothed out. Of _course_ the miracle was fake, it always was. At least Master had admitted it quickly this time. _"Him belong to us. He stay love us babies be nice to us; he leave hate us, Bad Laugh Man hurt me_ [ _caw_ ] [ _warble_ ] _hide."_

[ _warble_ ] was crying softly because everything was wrong wrong _wrong_ , [ _chirp-chirp_ ] still thought Daddy was Master after all, Daddy wasn't acting like Daddy and maybe [ _warble_ ] had been wrong maybe [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was right maybe Daddy would Smile and Laugh and tie him and hurt him, or [ _chirp-chirp_ ] would protect him and he would run and try to find a place to hide where he wouldn't be able to hear [ _chirp-chirp_ ]'s screams...

"Breathe, Jackie," Dick tried to say. "Deep breaths, it's all right, no one's going to hurt you, you're safe..."

 _'Fight,'_ [ _caw_ ] was thinking, readying himself, finding that _Place_ inside him to fit into, _'fight, fight,'_ because when hiding wasn't an option, letting the rage eat him so he couldn't feel pain was next best. His brothers were hurting, [big _chirp-chirp_ ] was leaving, Bat was killing Daddy and coming back coming out coming _closer_ , _'fight fight fight fight...!'_

"Sssshh."

Bruce looked up. He'd never before been so very relieved to see his daughter.

TBC

A/N: I headcanon that Damian learned basic ASL as part of his Bat training but isn't completely fluent yet.

I wrote Dick's departure scene a LONG time ago, back when the family was still living in the cave right after the Batpocalypse. At one point, I decided to combine it with Cassandra's return to the mansion and her official debut as a major character; I had no idea it would take _this long_ to finally reach this scene! I thought I could just do some tweaking and slot it in, but so freaking much has changed since then and there's been so much character development, I had to completely re-write most of the scene, particularly the second half. There was a lot of stuff I liked in the original draft, though, so I'm including here as an outtake.

 **Original draft (though it's been tweaked a bit for technical issues) of Dick's second departure:**

Dick's eyes widened. "Oh...crap."

He knew he didn't have time to run. He could tell from their body language that Jack was going to get behind him and make him fall when Peter went for his legs and John went for the rest of him. He tried to flip out of the way before they could strike, but they were so _fast_ \- one of them managed to catch at his foot in midair, knocking him off-balance; then another one, John, probably, anticipated his recovery move and snagged him _again_ , sending him crashing to the floor.

They swarmed him instantly, digging their fingers painfully into him like claws, and dragged him to the closest defensible corner. He barely had time to struggle; within five seconds of their first pounce, he was pinned by the full weight of a nine-year-old kneeling on his chest and an eight-year-old sitting on his stomach and a six-year-old lying on his legs.

Dazed and winded, Dick shifted his head and found Bruce storming toward them with a tranquilizer gun. Dick could see it in his mind's eye - the children would be forced into unconsciousness, they'd wake up bound and screaming, all progress would be lost, and they might never trust Bruce again. "No, Bruce!" That was all he could say without desperate gasping. Bruce froze, the gun still trained on John, but didn't fire.

Dick pulled at John's legs until the boy abruptly shifted; his knees now pinned Dick's arms to his sides instead of cutting off his breath. Dick had barely drawn a grateful gulp of air into his lungs when the child seized his head. Fingers dug painfully into his scalp as John leaned close, mouth slightly open in a silent snarl. His eyes were as blue as Dick's, though there was an unnatural ring of gold around the pupils. Dick had seen it before, all three of the children had it, but the Robin's stare was frighteningly mesmerizing when Dick was unable to look at anything else.

Dick swallowed, fighting the urge to close his own eyes. "Bruce," he called as calmly as he could, "stand down."

"Are you hurt?" Bruce asked tersely.

"No." Dick's voice softened. "You're not going to hurt me, Johnny."

The boy made a bird sound that only his two brothers recognized as _"Mine."_ He let go of Dick's face, scratched a shallow mark on the side of his neck, then bent low again, this time glaring watchfully out into the cave.

Bruce was seething. The dark Robins now seemed as feral as they had been when he'd first taken hold of their chains - the way they crouched possessively over Dick made them look like jackals about to feed on their kill, or perhaps dragons prepared to guard their treasure to the death. It filled him with rage to see his son trapped at the mercy of these monsters.

Dick must have seen the look on his face. "I'm okay, Bruce. I'm fine. It's okay. Don't escal-"

Bruce strode forward to physically pull the Robins off of his son, but they screeched and reared up threateningly. Jack tightened his grip on their captive; John clapped a hand down on Dick's head, nails perilously close to his eye, and screamed a murderous warning; Peter swiped viciously at Bruce.

The man paused, breathing hard.

"Bruce, stop, stop, calm down, violence will make it worse, I'm fine, they won't hurt me if you keep your distance...!"

Bruce took a very grudging step back. The Robins slowly settled down, staring at him intently, careful to keep their hold on Dick, all looking as fierce as coiled tigers. None of them had made any attempt at human communication since the moment their feral state had been triggered.

"Someone bring me food," Bruce said through clenched teeth.

No bribe had any effect on the boys. Neither John nor Jack showed any reaction to an offered cookie; Peter blinked slowly...then sank his teeth into his own arm and tore, drawing blood.

"Peter, no!" Dick shouted.

The boy lowered his dripping arm and gazed right past Bruce, now showing no more interest in the food than his brothers did.

Music didn't work. Interesting devices and gadgets didn't work. Coaxing didn't work. No matter what incentive was tried, the Robins now seemed immune to it. They kept watch over their captive, ignored everyone else unless they got close enough to be perceived as a threat, and occasionally twittered to each other in their own bird-like language.

 _"[warble] sleep. [caw] watch. [chirp-chirp] guard."_

 _"[warble] sleep."_

 _"[caw] watch."_

 _"Yes."_ John briefly turned his blue-gold gaze to his treasure. _"Mine."_

 _"Ours,"_ Peter reminded him.

 _"Mine,"_ Jack added, more to himself than to his brothers.

"Johnny," Dick pleaded, "please talk to me. I know you don't want me to leave, but you won't be lonely. There are so many..."

John shifted until his palm rested over [big _chirp-chirp_ ]'s heart. _"I'm frightened,"_ it said, which was too bad, but _"only a little bit,"_ so it could be tolerated. The steady beat was soothing. So was [big _chirp-chirp_ ]'s voice, flowing on and on with so many words words words. It was easier when [ _chirp-chirp_ ] didn't try to pull words out of that sound-river to understand. [big _chirp-chirp_ ] was staying, [big _chirp-chirp_ ] would not abandon him - that was enough. _"This Master is weak,"_ he remarked to his brothers. _"Not like That Master."_

[ _caw_ ] had always refused to call their captor 'Master' in bird language. _"This Bat will not take Treasure from us."_

 _"Long watch,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] said sympathetically. _"Hungry."_

 _"No. Wait. Hungry now; hungry will be, NO."_

 _"Good forager, you my brave sneaky flockmate,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] said affectionately.

Dick watched them, half-curious at the exchange he could not understand a word of, half-horrified that they didn't feel safe or motivated to even try to use English anymore. "Please, Johnny. Peter. I'll stay for a while, I won't leave yet, but please talk to me. Just say one word. Please, just one, even if it's only my name."

John gazed at him impassively. Peter made a dark bird chuckle. _"No more."_

 _"Easier than That Master's do-this-now,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] mused. _"No hurting for not doing."_

 _"No more."_

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] shifted his shoulder blades in assent like a bird ruffling its wings, checked to make sure that [ _warble_ ] was resting while he had the chance, and resumed his vigil.

o.o.o.o.o

About an hour later, Dick was a little hoarse from talking. "...and I followed him from the rooftops to make _sure_ he went home..." He'd been hoping that talking about all the good he did in Blüdhaven might eventually convince the birds to let him go, and John _was_ looking a little uneasy, but Peter seemed completely unperturbed.

"...so he finally did get parents who cared about him after all. He was a good kid who'd just found himself in a tough spot for a while." He was uncomfortable, too. They let him shift, adjusting their positions to account for his and dragging him back into place whenever he strayed too far from their defended corner, but even though he'd just been lying here for an hour, it was still tiring being pinned down by the boys' weight and stressed by the lack of freedom. It reminded him of the times he'd been kidnapped as a child - except this time, instead of making escape plans and waiting for Batman, he was mostly just having to endure, and Bruce was right there on the other side of the room but unable to rescue him.

Jack woke up, and after a brief, twittered exchange, he came to sit on Dick's chest, freeing John to move back and fall asleep on their prisoner's legs.

"Oh my God...you three can keep this up _indefinitely_ ," Dick realized in a horrified, amused, helpless whisper. "What are you going to do when you get hungry? What are you going to do when _I_ get hungry? I'm very hungry. I'll die if you don't feed me."

Peter shifted carefully so that he could press the side of his head against Dick's stomach without releasing him. Then he straightened up and twittered; he and Jack settled again dismissively.

"You can _tell_ I'm not that hungry yet?!"


	31. Chapter 17

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 17 (rough draft 2)**

A/N: In this chapter, brackets mean "the gist of." Sometimes, even if she doesn't know all the words, she can still figure out basically what the person is saying.

o.o.o

She is used to sleeping when the sun is up, in abandoned buildings with no people or abandoned buildings with people She knows are trustworthy, but Gotham is healing. The streets are slowly emptying of rubble, more and more homes and shops are being rebuilt, the shelters are emptying more every day. The people are grumbling and discontent instead of terrified and desperate. She thinks maybe...maybe She can go rest in Her own home now, with Her family. She can still come out at night and help the way She used to, before the invasion. Gotham's pain has eased enough that it doesn't need Her every waking moment anymore.

Yes. When Her companion returns to that big house Bruce loves so much, She will go with him.

(She will get to meet the baby birds at last, She is excited, She has longed to reach out to them and has watched them over and over on Her phone. She is nervous, because so many people find Her off-putting and threatening, Her heart will break if Her newest small brothers shrink back from Her in fear. Still...She can watch over them even if they don't let Her close.)

Little Robin/'Batman' yawns, that means it's time for him to stop. He tries to hide it from Her, to pretend it was a different gesture, but She knows. She saw. _"You are still young and need your rest,"_ She tells him, body-only so he won't understand; he gets so prickly when people try to make his decisions for him. She loves him so much, he's so tiny and anxious and sweet. She is glad that his father trusted Her to watch over him.

"Don't ~~ Orphan, I can ~~ hours ~~. _I_ _need_ _to rest but I_ _want_ _to keep going!"_

Calmly, She blocks him with Her body, over and over again, until he shouts at Her in frustration and then turns to shoot his flying-line toward home. Good. It's amusing how his body shouts _"Angry/glad!"_ at the same time. She doesn't know why they all still think they can hide things from Her.

Bruce tried once to explain 'deception' to Her. She finally understood when She got frustrated and said _"[Yes yes I understand now please stop!]"_ even though She didn't, but Bruce thought She did, because She had said so. He really thought She understood, just because She had made those mouth-noises. 'Deception' means She says something that isn't true, and they believe Her. She is very, very good at it, but they are all so bad at it, their bodies speak the truth whether their sounds match or not.

Except Bruce, sometimes. He knows the language of bodies best. He has to think about it when it does it, though; otherwise, he's the same as the others.

She lets Robin drive home, and he does well despite his fatigue. He is excited to realize that She's coming home, too, and it gives him a burst of energy, but he's drooping again by the time they pull into the Batcave. He seems half-asleep already as they clean up and record quick reports, and when they go upstairs, he greets his dog and heads straight to bed.

She hesitates in the hall. Bruce said the little ones sleep in his room so he will be alerted if something goes wrong. Silently, She eases open the door.

She is startled to find Bruce saying, _"Relaxed; only slightly uneasy."_ She can't remember ever seeing him in such peaceful, natural sleep. The tiny creature beside him is saying, _"Slightly troubled; I think I'm protected but I'm shielding just to make sure."_ The older child at the foot of the bed, poor thing... _"Upset; grieving; hopeless."_ She longs to comfort him, but his sleep is so light he will awaken in fear or anger at the merest touch.

Across the room, Dick is lying on a mattress on the floor, saying, _"Exhausted; relieved; safe."_ He, too, has let his guard down.

The only reason She does not join them all is because one person in the room is awake. He hasn't seen Her, but he's sensed Her; head sharply raised, eyes glaring through the dark, body tensed to attack, _"UNEASY; something's wrong; protective; don't know what it is but if it shows its face I'll kill it."_

She was right to think they would fear Her. Sadly, She closes the door just as silently as She opened it and backs away. Dick will be happy to see Her, at least, and Bruce. And Alfred and Tim. She will keep Her distance from the little ones and protect them from afar.

Her room is...different. It's changed in ways She knows now normal people would not notice, but then She finds her ballet shoes lined up neatly in the closet, so it's all right. Her music and movies are on the shelves, Her photographs are all accounted for even though they're in different places, there is a bed and it's soft. It's all right. Her room is not the room She remembers, but She still has a place in Bruce's home.

She crawls under the blankets, and it's too quiet, but She sleeps anyway.

o.o.o.o.o

She wakes up because something is Wrong. She hurries into the hall and then She realizes what She's hearing: the children screaming "[FEAR/GRIEF/RAGE]," Dick murmuring "[Distressed pleading sad]," Bruce bellowing "[ANGRY; DO WHAT I SAY.]"

She watches for a while in hiding, uncertain whether Her presence will help or make it worse. The little ones feel so terribly harassed, as if the entire world is their enemy. Dick is a long way from losing his temper, but he will eventually if he is not freed. Bruce is a tangled mass of frustration and distress and traces of guilt. The children cannot bear to let go, Dick cannot bear to stay imprisoned, Bruce cannot bear to see his loved ones hurt, and there is no good way out of this without sacrifices none of them are willing to make.

Perhaps, even if they are frightened of Her, Her presence will tip the balance?

She steps into sight, making the sound that is meant to calm.

 _"RELIEF"_ Bruce and Dick shout at once with their bodies.

The children flare up. _"DANGER"_

 _"YOU BAD, GO AWAY"_

 _"I DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T COME NEAR!"_

Of course, yes, She knew this already. She tries not to give in to the pain of their rejection, and goes instead to greet Bruce, to show that She will not target them and is not a threat.

But- Oh... Their fear and anger sinks to wariness, there is a spark of curiosity. They weren't frightened of _Her_ , they were simply frightened by Her unexpected, unrecognized arrival. Turning away from them was the right move.

Except now they are on edge, especially the oldest child, and from his line of vision, She realizes it's because She is about to greet Bruce as a friend. This boy 'John' does not like Bruce. If She is Bruce's friend, then She is John's enemy.

So She alters Her direction slightly, approaching Bruce with mild curiosity rather than familiarity. _"You, maybe; what about you?"_

 _"? I don't like not understanding / being in control, but I trust you."_

She must keep it brief. After two seconds of glancing over Bruce from the side, She drops Her interest and moves on. There is food. She is not particularly interested in it at the moment, but She gives it a great deal of Her attention.

"Cass? ~~ great ~~ see you ~~ but...little help ~~?"

She glances at Dick out of the corner of Her eye. _"Can't you see I'm busy? I'm not ready to pay attention to you yet."_

John has drawn himself close and compact like a shield, but the younger two, 'Peter' and 'Jack,' are staring at Her in fascination. They are forgetting to keep their grip on their captive tight, and John is very displeased.

She ignores it. She eats half a plateful of food, and also has to ignore Bruce making a great effort to contain his impatience. He knows She is trying to help, but he doesn't understand how yet, and that frustrates him. Dick is resigned - he will not interfere in whatever happens.

"[I would like to have that thing of yours]," the youngest one finally asks, except it's with bird sounds instead of human sounds.

She looks at him, fascinated. Except for in the videos Bruce sent Her, She has never heard a human child make such sounds.

 _"[You to me],"_ he asks with his hands. Bruce gave up teaching Her hand-words long ago because they are almost as difficult for Her as mouth-words, but She thinks She recognized 'give.'

She tilts Her shoulders and head to say, _"Mine. Why should I share?"_

She is pleasantly surprised when all three of them understand perfectly.

 _"OH, I know what you're doing, you think you will win this way, but I WON'T LET YOU,"_ John says silently, in Her own language.

 _"Realization/guilt/resistance,"_ Peter squirms. Him, She can win over if She is patient.

 _"Because I deserve it,"_ the littlest one asserts. It makes Her smile. Too many people think too much of themselves, but this child is more like Damian, slowly learning to replace toxic self-images with healthier ones. The fine-tuning can come later, with experience and help from people who understand it more concretely than She does.

She shifts a shoulder to guard Her food as She gazes back at them with a sideways gaze and high chin that speak dismissal and self-importance. _"No. Mine all mine; glee~"_

John turns away. He will not allow himself to be convinced.

 _"Your keep-it is different than our keep-it!"_ Peter protests.

She raises an eyebrow. _"How?"_

 _"...That thing will not flee from you! This thing will flee from us!"_

She approaches calmly, resting on the floor with Her legs casually extended rather than crouching, leaning so that only the farthest parts of Her reach for their treasure. She is only demonstrating, not threatening. Her nails press gently into Dick's soft flesh so that he has to raise his chin; She lifts Her own head so that Her throat is exposed.

They look at Her, and She knows they see it clearly: Her and Dick, equally vulnerable, yet She is freely offering while he is unhappily submitting. The younger children murmur _"Guilty..."_ with their bodies.

Rage and rejection fills John's face; he claws at Her.

She sees it coming, She could certainly dodge in time. Yet She does not move, and even though someone has recently trimmed his nails, his attack is so forceful that red lines streak across Her chest where he struck Her.

He cringes back. _"Guilt anger stubbornness; I won't do it, I won't do it, you're all killing me so I'm hurting you back, my heart is bursting...!"_

She is distracted by Bruce, who cannot tolerate seeing his children hurt by anyone other than himself. His approaching footsteps are heavy. "JOHN! [I do not like that bad thing you did, I am so angry-!]"

No, no, John is terrified of him and furious, She has to keep Bruce away from him. She leaps to Her feet to shield the child, Her face angry as She looks at Bruce. _"No no NO! Do not interfere, I won't let you touch him!"_

Bruce is exasperated. _"_ _Why_ _?! He hurt you, it is wrong for my loved ones to be hurt!"_

 _"Go away."_

Slowly, grudgingly, he retreats, and She turns back to Her task of freeing Dick from the little ones.

They are staring at Her, John in shock. He will fight with all the power in his small body to protect the people he treasures, but he can't believe anyone would protect _him_.

She moves, careful not to make any threat to take Dick away from him, and lays Her body over the child's. _"I would defend you with My life."_

"~~ Cass, ~~ I don't ~~ more people ~~ me..." Dick's grumbling is just idle complaining; She is being careful that no one is taking too much weight.

Peter and Jack are entranced, they will not resist now if Dick were to pull away, but John is weeping. His shaking hands gripping Dick's shirt say, _"They will take him from me, I will hold on until my last breath but I can never stop them from taking my treasures..."_ He will not look at Her, he resents Her deeply, but the marginally relaxed muscles in his back whisper that he is grateful for Her protection, even if he doesn't quite believe in it.

Then he collapses in despair, giving up, retreating into himself. He is used to being beaten until there are no options left. That isn't what She wanted, but Dick is squirming now, there's a sudden struggle that ends with Dick staggering away and the smallest two screaming "[Anger/resentment!]" at him and John still motionless on the floor with a dying heart.

"[I can't (guilty) angry I can't sorry goodbye!]" Dick protests, and then he is gone.

"[FURIOUS!]" Peter screeches with his mouth, and _"I AM EXTREMELY DISPLEASED"_ Jack announces with his body.

John has not moved. She is frightened for him. She leaps up and stomps Her foot on the floor near his face to get his attention. In the split second She has before he dismisses Her again, She begins to dance.

It is not the 'ballet' She loves so much, mostly. It is a dance that clinically screams _"ANGER!"_ because he needs to get off the floor, he is poisoning himself by drawing all those feelings so deep inside.

Something sparks in his eyes. He jumps up and stomps, and while She was merely demonstrating, his own dance is genuine. He cannot see Her anymore, he is wholly absorbed in venting his rage, in screaming with his body. His brothers join him at once, their voices mostly silent but the floor bellowing and groaning with the violence of their expression. Bruce, watching, looks stunned and a little awed; the boy 'Duke,' peering in cautiously from the kitchen, is both put off and fascinated; Alfred, watching from another entryway, is relieved.

The younger two soon have enough and go to take refuge with their father, watching their brother a little fearfully. He dances on.

She waits until he finally starts to tire, until the rage is spent and it's now despair forcing him to dance on. He will dance until he drops. She passes in front of him to coax his attention toward Her and dances, and this time the smoother movements say _"Grief."_

This one, they dance together. He grieves and grieves with his shattered heart, and She mirrors him, staying close, reminding him that he is not alone even though he's too caught up in his feelings to acknowledge Her yet.

Then, when the time is right, She brushes softly against him. He responds at once, and now at last his eyes turn to Her and stay there. They read each other's bodies effortlessly, and Her chest fills with exhilaration to be able to speak to someone so easily with the language of Her heart. She didn't realize until now how isolated She felt, but at last, at last, She has found someone who _connects_ to Her with incredible grace.

Their dance is a conversation. _"Who are you?"_

 _"Someone who loves you."_

 _"Why why why why why?"_

 _"We are family."_ She realizes a beat later that he understands it as 'flockmates.'

 _"We only just met?"_

 _"This house is a nest. Birds fly in and out; no matter how far they go, when they come back here, they rest. I come to my home to rest, I find you new little ones here, I love little ones."_

 _"...You will fly away again, Beloved flew away again, everyone everyone everyone flies away from me except HIM that I hate and them my little treasures whose wings are broken like mine..."_

 _"Precious, you are so young. Your wings are not broken, only small. Someday, they will be big enough to carry you wherever you wish."_

He stops dead and stares at her. _"I don't believe you."_

 _"Beloved-who-just-left. Long ago, he was so angry, he didn't want to be here, so he flew away. Then he came back, and he was not angry anymore."_ She wonders how to reference Jason. _"Other flockmate, much-hurt much-angry, tried to break the nest and hurt flockmates and hurt him-Bruce... He is not so angry anymore. The hurt is healing. He flies farthest from this nest, but there is always a place for him when he comes to rest a little bit."_

 _"...My wings...they will grow...I will fly away...I WILL NOT come back!"_

 _"Will you see Dick-flockmate outside this nest? Will you see your small flockmates outside this nest, when their wings are strong, too?"_

 _"Yes yes yes."_

 _"Good. Good enough."_

They study each other for a long moment.

 _"...Food, warm, no-hurt. Good enough,"_ he agrees, and his shoulders sag, and he submits to staying in this house until he is old enough to leave.

 _"May I hug you?"_ She asks. He launches himself at Her, wraps his arms around Her and squeezes tight. She encircles him with Her own arms, because he needs to feel shielded. _"I love you."_

 _"I...want to love you...you will leave me someday, but I would love you if you didn't..."_

His little bird brothers scamper toward them, relieved. _"[You are all right now?]"_ they twitter. _"[No more hurting?]"_

 _"I want to bury myself,"_ he grumbles with his body.

They seem to be used to this, so they turn to Her instead. They are alight with curiosity at Her newness. _"You ~~ us?"_ they ask with their hands.

 _"I don't know hand-words,"_ She says apologetically.

Peter pouts in disapproval; Jack grabs Her and tries to drag Her away.

 _"Beloved,"_ She says to John. _"I want to go with him and also keep you."_

 _"[Don't be stubborn!]"_ his brothers twitter at him impatiently. Slowly, he moves his feet, accompanying Her as She follows the two little ones to play outside.

She realizes suddenly that She has not had to speak a single word with Her mouth. She thought Her new small brothers would fear Her, but instead, they speak Her first language and are already welcoming Her into their lives. She loves them with all Her heart.

TBC


	32. Chapter 18, Part 1

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 18.1 (rough draft 2)**

It was almost like watching wild animals interact, their behavior rich with meaning but mostly unintelligible to an outsider. It took Bruce's breath away with admiration (and, if he was honest, slight envy) how quickly and easily Cassandra and the birds, the four of his children who had great difficulty communicating verbally, connected with and understood each other. Mere minutes after their first meeting, they behaved like they'd been siblings all their lives.

Bruce consciously shifted into the mindset that better allowed him to understand his daughter's use of body language, and then, after watching them for a while, he felt like a complete fool for not having realized sooner. To a great extent, the children knew this language, too. They weren't just subconsciously perceptive about adults' body language the way children were in general; the birds could read him in the same way Cassandra did, albeit likely with a strong bias due to their history. He didn't think he'd made any major mistakes in his ignorance, but he would have to be more careful and aware in the future.

Watching John dance, watching him scream his pain without words, was like having to listen to his agonized weeping all over again. Bruce didn't even want to think about the possibility that this child, this precious little boy whom he loved so much, might have been wounded too deeply to ever heal. _'One step at a time. One day at a time. There were moments when you thought Jason would never heal, either.'_

"That was...something," Duke murmured as they watched Jack and Peter pull Cassandra away. "Feel like a bunch of stuff just went over my head, there."

"Me, too." He noticed his butler starting to clear the table. "Good morning, Alfred."

"Good afternoon, Master Bruce, Master Duke," Alfred replied with a slight smile.

Duke moved to help stack dirty plates and half-empty pans of food on Alfred's cart. Bruce, who had been raised to be waited on in his own home, only noticed this sort of thing when people like Jason or Duke initiated it, and felt guilt-tripped into helping as well even though it felt strange. In this instance, Alfred didn't seem to mind either way.

"By the way," Duke said, a little too casually, "I was thinking of going up to see Cyborg on the Watchtower tomorrow."

Which Bruce instantly translated as, _You'd better be cool with it, and also please teach me how to use the Zeta-Tube._ "All right," Bruce said slowly. The request made him uneasy, though he could think of no reason to forbid Duke's plan. Then he realized it was because he was worried about sending one of his mostly-untried kids off into the dangerous unknown. _'Duke is a seventeen-year-old young man with a year of training,'_ Bruce told himself firmly, _'there have been zero Zeta-Beam-related deaths or injuries in the history of the Justice League, and he's just going to keep Cyborg company for a few hours, not engage any enemies. He will be safe.'_ "I'll accompany you."

Duke stared at him.

"Just until you get there. You don't need a chaperone when you're actually on the Watchtower."

The wary look turned into a smile. "Does that mean you trust me?"

"I've _always_ trusted you, Duke." _'It's supervillains, non-super villains, heroes' carelessness, and the whims of fate I don't trust.'_

When Bruce came outside to check on the kids, he found John sitting on the grass, very still with his back to the house. Cassandra sat next to him, her presence offering silent comfort, but she was turned toward the younger two children, who appeared to be playing some sort of tag-like game and were using her as a 'base.' They were clearly enjoying themselves, shrieking and teasing each other as they ran around the yard.

Bruce sat down at one of the tables on the terrace and started catching up on emails. He felt...content, in some ways, sitting out in the good weather with his children playing nearby, but in other ways, he felt restless. Before the birds, at this time on a Sunday afternoon, he would usually be doing Bat research or training, perhaps checking in on one of his various teams. He hadn't been in the field in so long... Justice League missions were more of an unpleasant necessity than his preferred type of work, and his night of patrol with Damian already felt like ages ago. Playing tech support to his allies barely scratched the itch. Much as he loved his family and his home, he wanted to visit Gotham's streets again. Batman might have terrible baggage for him now, but he still longed for a mask and a cape.

 _'This has never been about what you want,'_ he told himself sternly. _'The children come first.'_ Ever since he'd made his vow, he had prioritized his vigilante mission, being unforgivably careless with each child who had entered his life and letting the curse of Batman get the better of him. Now...he needed to stop doing things the same way he'd always done them. Batman was no longer the only thing standing between Gotham and hellish anarchy; Batman had _never_ been Gotham's lone protector. There were good, hardworking people of integrity in the GCPD, Jim Gordon foremost among them but by no means the only one. Gotham also had plenty of other vigilantes - Batman's network of partners and allies in the city seemed to grow larger every year.

Batman would always have work to do, but he wasn't desperately needed. Not by Gotham, not anymore. It was three young boys who now needed him most, and his primary responsibility was to _them_. If Bruce screwed up his second chance to get it right with these precious younger versions of Dick, Jason, and Tim, he didn't deserve to be their father. Also, whenever he dared to think about it, he got the uneasy feeling that if his parents could see him now, they would be much prouder of Bruce Wayne, the parent and generous philanthropist, than they would be of Batman, the stalker and trespasser who beat people up every night.

 _'You're retired. Get used to it,'_ he told himself firmly, wondering how many times he'd have to repeat it before the prospect stopped feeling so painfully impossible.

Jack was watching him. His brothers were now trying to imitate Cassandra's graceful dancing, but Jack was huddled on the terrace steps, looking at Bruce intently.

"Do you want something, Jack?" Bruce asked, keeping his voice quiet and hopefully inviting.

"...Daddy?"

"Yes?"

 _"Bad Laugh Man?"_

 _'Don't get angry,'_ Bruce reminded himself. The children could tell when he was angry, and they would always think it was them he was angry at. "The Man Who Laughs is dead. I am not him. He was a horrible person, and I'm glad he's dead. I love you very much and I want you to be safe, Jack."

The little boy crept closer. "Daddy yyell. Daddy mmad at me [ _chirp-chirp_ ] [ _caw_ ]."

"I was upset because you were hurting Dick, and I love him and want him to be safe, too. I was frustrated, because I couldn't stop you from hurting him. Even though I was upset and frustrated, I _never_ wanted to hurt you or any of your brothers, Jack."

The child considered this.

"Jack. Do you get angry sometimes? Do you ever get frustrated?"

"Yyess."

"That's because you're a human being. All human beings have feelings like that from time to time. I'm a human being, too, so sometimes I get angry. I'm sorry I frightened you."

"Daddy ssorrry?"

"Yes, Jack, I am very sorry. I would never hurt you, even if I'm angry."

"Daddy mmad?"

"I am not angry anymore. I am happy that you and Dick and John and Peter are all safe. I love you all very much."

Jack crept toward him, hesitated, circled to the side, stepped closer, and hesitated again. Bruce was patient. It occurred to him to glance away, so that he wasn't staring at the boy in a way he might find intimidating.

At last, Jack lifted his hands and slowly curled his fingers into Bruce's shirt.

"Jack, may I hug you?"

"Ddohtt hhurrr't mme, Daddy."

"I will not," Bruce whispered, his heart breaking. "I will not hurt you." Slowly, he put an arm around the boy and squeezed gently. Jack hid his face against his shirt.

Bruce looked up to find the other boys at the foot of the steps, watching him in their hunting-cat way.

"Jack," Bruce murmured, "I think your brothers are worried about you. Go on and play."

Jack broke away and raced down the steps, shrieking in a hysterically relieved way. He pounced at Cassandra, who evaded gracefully and started teasing him as he chased her. John and Peter continued to stare at Bruce, though they now seemed to be studying him rather than on the verge of attacking.

"Cassandra," Bruce called, "I'll be in the cave if you need anything."

She made a 'Got it' gesture.

Bruce, however, did not get much work done. After only twenty minutes, the children came romping into the Batcave. Cassandra tried to get them interested in the practice area, but Jack kept running to interrupt Bruce just for the sake of interacting with him, and though Peter avoided direct contact, for some reason he kept being loud and distracting near Bruce's workspace. John seemed on edge until Cassandra lowered a trapeze bar within his reach and attracted his interest.

Bruce finally turned away from the computer and asked, "What?"

Peter darted to hide behind the edge of the computer bank.

Bruce got up and went over there, positioning himself to the side so that Peter could escape if he wanted. He looked down at the boy, who stared up at him with wide eyes. "You look like you want to talk to me, Peter. Is there something you want to say?"

 _"...You are angry."_

"No, I am not angry. I was angry when you hurt Dick, but you're not hurting him anymore, so I am no longer angry."

Peter's hand darted out to strike his shoe, then instantly drew back.

"That does not make me angry, either. I am annoyed that you keep interrupting my work, but I'm not angry, and I'm not going to hurt you."

After a pause, Peter lunged and shoved at him, then leaped back out of reach. They stared at each other.

"Do you...want me to chase you?" The idea of Peter actually initiating a game with him was...unbelievable. In both senses of the word.

"Nno!" Peter said quickly, but there was...anticipation in his expression.

"...Do you want me to catch you?"

"NO!" Now it was fear.

"...If I chase you, you will be too fast for me to catch," Bruce tried, and that was it. Peter actually giggled, and when Bruce made an experimental move toward him, Peter fled toward Cassandra, not as if he was running for his life, but as if he wanted to play where someone he trusted could rescue him if necessary.

Jack joined in immediately. Cassandra soon did as well, and she let Bruce catch her a few times. He understood at once that she was showing the children how harmless it was to be caught. Neither of the boys seemed ready to submit to it themselves, but they did watch intently, and were relieved every time their sister leaped free again.

Bruce figured it was as good a chance as any to slip in some indirect self-defense instruction. Cassandra demonstrated the movements slowly and with enough exaggeration that the boys could perceive and hopefully remember. Of course Bruce never wanted his youngest children to ever have a need to perform such moves, but they lived in Gotham, and Bruce's older sons - not to mention Bruce himself - had been captured in their civilian identities before (some of them multiple times), so...self-defense was good to know.

John hid and watched for a long time. When he did finally rush out to join in the game, he seemed to take it more seriously than his siblings did. He did not laugh or smile when he darted to intercept Bruce and court his attention, again and again, replacing his brothers with himself as a target.

When Jack ran slowly enough that the charade of not being able to catch him was difficult to keep up, and Bruce's fingers were inches away, John fiercely shoved himself between them. Bruce lightly grasped his forearm, and was impressed and proud when John seized his own fist and yanked upward, taking advantage of the weakest point of Bruce's grip. It was a move Cassandra had demonstrated earlier.

"Good!" Bruce cried, and John glared at him warily from a safe distance. "Good. That's exactly how to do it if a bad person grabs you like that."

 _"You bad person grab!"_

"Come back here and I'll show you more ways to break a hold."

John considered, but ultimately retreated in rejection. Then Peter and Jack pounced at Bruce together, and he turned it into a self-defense lesson.

The fresh knowledge seemed to both excite them and put them on edge. Their attacks grew rougher, they stopped laughing, and when John zeroed in on Bruce again, it no longer felt like a game.

He was genuinely fleeing from them now. He had to stop letting them catch him because their attacks hurt. They started to snarl, and John's mouth had stretched into a Joker smile at some point. Bruce had a feeling their minds were not entirely in the present...surely they'd fantasized at some point about being able to turn the tables on their tormentor. The dark corner of Bruce's heart that he always kept locked up tight gleefully imagined siccing his children on that monster and watching them tear him to pieces, but the monster was dead. This was real life, not a fantasy.

Bruce seized a grapple gun and rose to an upper level, safely out of reach. The children gathered beneath him like dogs who'd just treed their prey.

"We're finished," Bruce called down to them firmly. "The game is over."

There was a very long pause. _"I like it,"_ Peter finally protested, but the Monsterbird look on his face began to seep away.

 _"I want to chase Bad Laugh Man,"_ Jack pouted.

 _"Our dark place, not yours,"_ John signed, his gestures so muted that it was hard to understand him from a distance.

"Let's go upstairs. Back away, or I won't come down."

They shifted, but didn't move back.

"Go play with Cassandra. You're finished playing with me."

Cassandra had been watching from the practice area, keeping an eye on them but not interfering. She raised her voice to get their attention and then called _"Come to me"_ with her body. _"Rest."_ She held out some water bottles, and the children finally galloped over to her. When Bruce made his way over and they all headed upstairs a few minutes later, Jack held his hand, and Peter carefully brushed against him without flinching. Cassandra put her arm around John, who held it in place.

 _TBC_


	33. Chapter 18, Part 2

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 18.2 (rough draft 2)**

Half of the upstairs library had, in older times, been used as a schoolroom, and now it was being used for its original purpose once again. John, Peter, and Jack each had a proper desk, and their educational materials were easy to access.

Cassandra gently detached herself to go about her own business, and Bruce worked with the boys on lessons, speech practice, ASL improvement, and occasionally games whenever they looked like they needed a break. Peter and Jack were energetic and in good spirits, especially when they got into the rhythm of earning points that they could periodically exchange for bite-sized treats. Even John, who maintained a sullen undertone toward Bruce, kept forgetting himself and enjoying some of the activities with his brothers.

Late in the afternoon, Dick called. _"Hi, Bruce._ _I made it home okay."_

"Good."

 _"...Are the kids still super-mad at me?"_

"Cassandra kept them occupied for a while, and right now we're just finishing up some lessons."

 _"Think they'll break the phone if I talk to them?"_

"We'll see." Bruce switched it to vidchat mode, then looked at the children. They were all watching him intently, their bodies unnaturally still. "Boys, stay calm, or I will turn off the phone." He turned the screen toward them.

 _"Heeeyyy, baby birds,"_ Dick said sheepishly.

The children complained at him and cried a little and shouted a lot. The conversation ended when Peter threw something at the phone and Bruce managed to snatch it out of the way in time. "That's enough of that."

Tim had returned home from work by then. He, Damian, and Duke were chatting with Cassandra in the living room when Bruce came in with the boys. "Welcome back."

"Hi, Bruce." Tim smiled when the children trotted over to him. "Hi, birds."

"Ttiimmy sllee'py."

"I'm tired, not sleepy. Not quite the same thing."

"You going to catch a nap before patrol?" Duke asked.

"Oh, God, no," Tim groaned. " _Way_ to much work to catch up on for that. I'm probably going to skip dinner, too."

"Timothy," Bruce said sternly.

"I meant skip the dining room; I'll _eat_ , obviously. In my room, so I can keep working."

"Hnn."

Tim soon left, loosening his tie as he went. Bruce handed the children back over to Cassandra and followed, though he made a detour to his study first. He knocked on Tim's door, entered when Tim called, and found his son dressed in a bathrobe and little else, swallowing an energy drink as he sat at his desk surrounded by digital screens.

Tim squinted at Bruce in confusion. "What's the briefcase for?"

"I know you don't want to go anywhere or do anything together or accept any assistance, but this is still your designated night, Tim. I have plenty of my own work and I won't interrupt yours, but if you change your mind at any point, just say the word. For at least the next few hours, you are my highest priority, period."

Tim stared at him. "You're just gonna...sit here. And work on stuff. In my room."

"Unless you'd like to do something else."

" _No_ , it's fine, I mean...do what you want. But seriously, Bruce, I really meant it about giving my night to Damian or Duke, or, sheesh, Cass, now that she's back. Or go play with the birds some more, or do your own thing, I seriously _don't care_."

"I am doing my own thing," Bruce said stubbornly. "I am choosing to spend time with my seventeen-year-old son, even if that means working silently in each other's presence until you leave for patrol."

"...Fine."

"Fine."

"Sorry I don't have another desk," Tim huffed, turning back to his main computer.

Bruce spread out his stuff on the storage chest at the foot of the bed, pulled over a chair, and got to work.

o.o.o.o.o

Tim had trouble concentrating at first - having Bruce there was _weird_ \- but then Alfred came in with a cart full of food for the two of them, and then Tim was mostly focused on trying to get work done and eat without spilling anything on the electronics. By the time he finished most of his plate, he'd found his groove, and when he thought to check the time, he found that nearly two hours had passed in an eyeblink.

Bruce was still there, working quietly. True to his word, he hadn't interrupted even once.

Tim lasted another twenty minutes or so. Then he shoved away from the desk, swiveled his chair to face Bruce, and demanded, "You'd seriously do _anything_ I said I wanted to do? You'd RP with me, or cosplay, or marathon the Rurouni Kenshin movie trilogy with me?"

"Yes," Bruce said, a little defensively. He didn't know what 'RP' was, and he had the general idea that getting involved with cosplay would be even more painful than singing in public, but he'd do it. For Tim. Because he was Tim's father and he loved him and he wanted Timothy to feel loved.

"I'm just kidding, I'm not into cosplay and I haven't RP'd since I was eleven. But, like...you'd come to Blüdhaven with me - in civvies - and photograph the graffiti art on abandoned buildings? You'd help me hack Ra's's-?"

"Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, I would do anything for you." It just came out. He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but now he had, and...he didn't even feel embarrassed about it. He could see little Jack's same wariness and longing in Tim's eyes, and whatever he would say to Jack should be equally acceptable to say to Tim.

"..." Tim abruptly stood, grabbed a book off the shelf, and tossed it at Bruce. Then he flopped back into his chair and picked up his tablet to access a digital copy of the same book. "Chapter 12; skip the intro and the first scene, the second starts about halfway through. You read Dimak's lines, I'm Bean. Dialogue only for now."

They did a sort of reader's theater of Orson Scott Card's _Ender's Shadow_ for nearly an hour. Bruce was somewhat lost, since he'd read the book a long time ago and mostly remembered impressions rather than details, but he quickly saw why the novel appealed to Tim. Like Bean, and like Bruce himself, Timothy Drake had always had an intelligence beyond his years, and it _was_ fun to prove you were smarter than the grown-ups.

At last, Tim set the tablet aside and rubbed at his eyes. Then he gave Bruce a small smile and murmured, "Thanks for not letting me give away my Dad Night."

Bruce smiled back. "It's a good book." He made a mental note to re-read from the beginning.

"I'd...better start getting ready for patrol." Both of them stood and cleaned up, shuffling papers together and putting electronics to sleep. Then they sort of awkwardly started to exit the room together. Tim paused before reaching the door, and after a silent moment, Bruce put an arm around him. Tim hugged him back. "Thanks, Dad," he whispered, then hurried away.

Bruce was smiling as he went in search of his birds, who turned out to be pestering their older siblings as they got ready for patrol.

"Nno! Bba-duh mmakk!" Peter insisted, pulling the domino mask away from Damian's face before he'd even finished putting it on.

"Stop that, Todd! I _need_ it if you're not going to let me use the cowl!"

"Hhuu'tt, Ddami! Hhu'tt yyou!"

"It does not hurt. Let _go_."

In the practice area, John was rather violently swinging on a trapeze bar, crowing loudly.

"We go, he is angry," Cassandra explained ruefully to Bruce as she pulled on her gloves.

"Daddy!" Jack insisted, pulling on Bruce's shirt, "Daddy ssay s'tto'pp! Say Ccassie Ddami pllay wif us mmore! _More_!"

"Jack," Bruce said, picking him up, "even if they did stay home tonight, they can't play with you anymore. It's time for bed."

"No! No no no no no no _no_ ," Jack whined, lightly beating his fists against Bruce.

Bruce ignored him and called, "Peter, leave Damian alone, it's time to get ready for bed. John, do you need help getting down?"

John slid off the bar and just _dropped_ , not making any attempt to land carefully. Bruce put down Jack and rushed over.

John was rolling on the trampoline beneath the trapeze bars, humming in displeasure. He rolled away from Bruce's reaching hands. " _John_."

Chasing down a rebellious nine-year-old on a trampoline was one of the weirder adventures in Bruce's child-rearing experience; even Dick had never done this to him. By the time he managed to catch John, the boy's malicious giggling had turned to Joker laughter. "John, _please_."

John stretched out in Bruce's hold, arms spread wide, head tipped back so far he was looking upside-down, and sang a gush of birdsong that had the cadence of a smug villainous monologue.

Tim had already left, and Damian was waiting impatiently for Cassandra. She had just been about to get in the Batmobile beside him, but she paused. She marched over to the trampoline. _"NO ONE WILL DIE."_

John snapped upright and twisted around in Bruce's arms to stare at her.

 _"Bruce-him does not Laugh, so why do you Laugh?"_

 _"...He will Laugh."_

 _"He does not Laugh NOW, so you must not Laugh now."_

John went relaxed and demure and coolly polite. _"Yes."_

She gestured in warning. _"We will talk when I come back."_

 _"You will not come back."_

 _"If I do not come back, you will do what you want. If I come back, we will talk."_

At last, John's expression crumbled into something more genuine. "Cccasssiie," he whimpered. His reaching hands begged her to stay. "Nnoo. Ppeess. Nno!"

She kissed him. _"I love you."_ She gestured sternly at Bruce. _"Be kind to my precious one."_ She looked at the younger birds and opened her palms from her heart toward them. _"You have my love."_

They copied her sadly.

She stepped back, bowed to the cave in general, then returned to Damian.

" _Finally_ , Cassandra! The night awaits!"

When they left, Bruce exhaled and cautiously let go of John, who flopped onto the surface of the trampoline. "John, it's time for you and your brothers to go upstairs and get ready for bed."

John squirmed off the trampoline with exaggerated slowness and clumsiness, then trudged along when Bruce went up to the computer bank where Duke was sitting. "Is Alfred not down yet?"

"He said he was on his way," Duke replied. "But he has to help you with the kids first, right?"

"Think you can hold the fort by yourself for a while?"

"Yeah. Patrol's usually pretty quiet at first, anyway."

"Yes. You'll do fine." Duke had plenty of experience doing tech support and could now work the quieter nights by himself, but he still usually had Alfred, Bruce, or Tim supervising. This time, when Bruce and the birds went upstairs, Duke would be alone in the cave (except for Bat-Cow, who was dozing in her enclosure). "I'll go check on Alfred. Call me if you need anything."

"Right."

Bruce called Alfred, frowned at the lethargic tone of his butler's promise to join him momentarily, and led the children to their room. Alfred arrived a minute later, looking tired and pale.

"Alfred? Are you feeling all right?"

"Just slightly under the weather, sir, but I-" He sighed a little as Bruce felt his forehead.

"Do me a favor and go take your temperature."

"I already have. ...It's very low."

"You're coming down with something," Bruce stated, sounding more matter-of-fact than he felt.

"Probably just a minor bug, nothing to worry about." He still looked tired enough to be depressed.

"Alfred, I've got the kids, and Duke's got the cave; I'll be on standby for him. Go on to bed."

Alfred hesitated.

"I don't want the kids to catch anything from you," Bruce tried.

Alfred raised an eyebrow at him, but finally assented and shuffled off, his shoulders sagging as he allowed himself to give in to his fatigue.

 _TBC_


	34. Chapter 18, Part 3

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 18.3 (rough draft 2)**

Bruce sighed and stepped over to the bathroom. "Looks like it's just the four of us tonight. Jack, are you going to take a bath or a shower?"

Jack pointed at the shower and started tossing off his clothes.

"Put them in the hamper, Jack." Bruce started running water in the bath, then got clean towels and pajamas ready. When the tub was full, he shut off the water and reached for Peter's shirt.

The child jerked away from him.

"Boys, get undressed and get in the bath."

They stared at him with wide eyes and didn't move. Bruce stared back, slowly realizing that this was the first time he was expecting them to get naked in the same room as him without another adult present. _'God DAMN him to the lowest circle of HELL-!'_ Then he had to remind himself that they could read his body language and he needed to calm down. "Would you like to take a shower instead of a bath?" he asked, gesturing at the splashing sounds Jack was making. Unlike in the master suite, the ordinary shower stalls were thickly translucent, so all they could see of Jack's body was a faint blob.

"Ha ha," John said, "ha ha ha ha-"

Bruce stepped out of the bathroom and to the side of the doorframe so he was out of their sight. "I won't touch you," he called. "Take a bath and then put on your pajamas."

It was exasperating, being trapped outside the bathroom and unable to correct them when he sneaked glances in and found Peter sitting in the tub fully-dressed, merrily playing with the bath toys, and John taking his clothes off but then just lying unmoving in the tub, staring up at the ceiling.

Unexpectedly, Jack came to his rescue. The little boy finished his shower, came out and pulled a towel around himself, then caught sight of his brothers and started shrilly scolding them. Peter shout-twittered back; John didn't bother replying. Jack started to stomp over to them, but he couldn't keep his hold on the towel, which fell to the floor. He wrapped his arms around himself and started to shiver, crying tearlessly.

"Jack, come here," Bruce called.

The little boy immediately ramped up his whimpering and shuffled out to Bruce, gazing with his most pathetic puppy eyes.

"You don't have to _persuade_ me, I _want_ to warm you up." Bruce took the risk of crossing his upper body over the threshold so he could retrieve the towel. He wrapped it around the little boy and then fetched another pair of pajamas, since the one he'd originally prepared was out of reach on the counter by the sink.

Once Jack was dried and dressed, he was back to his energetic, bossy self. He galloped over to the tub. "Bbad [ _caw_ ]!"

"Nno!" Peter shouted back.

Jack grabbed a bar of soap and started rubbing it on Peter's hair (Bruce facepalmed, but didn't dare interfere). Peter fought back. Jack determinedly climbed into the tub, pajamas and all, and struggled with him. John curled up so he wouldn't get stomped on, but otherwise ignored them.

"Jack, soap is for bodies! _Shampoo_ is for hair!" Bruce called hopelessly.

A minute later, Peter and Jack were both crying and rubbing at their stinging eyes. John had his hands clamped over his ears and was rocking a little.

 _'Screw it!'_ Bruce entered the bathroom again and turned on the water, pulling down the handheld shower head so he could rinse the soap out of the children's eyes. They blinked rapidly, Jack looking relieved and Peter subdued, though they still kept trying to rub at their red-rimmed eyes. "No, don't do that. It will feel better in a minute if you _don't touch_ it." Bruce sighed deeply, then fetched more towels and clothes.

Jack got out of the tub as soon as he was called and allowed himself to be stripped of the soaking wet pajamas and helped into the pajamas that had originally been set out for him. Comfortable and warm again, he beamed up at his father, who awkwardly smiled back before turning to Peter. "Peter, your clothes are drenched. You cannot leave the bathroom like that, or you will make a mess and feel very cold. Either _you_ will take your wet clothes off, or _I_ will take them off."

Peter glared at him, but then looked taken aback when Bruce held out a big fluffy towel ready to wrap the child in. "You can have this as soon as you get rid of the wet clothes." The boy considered, but did not move until Bruce tried putting another towel on the stand beside the tub, and a third towel on the stool near the other side of the tub. He held the first towel open again.

Peter, his eyes fixed on the second towel, carefully pulled his clothes off. Then he dove for the third towel. He staggered on the wet floor, struggling frantically to unfold the thick material, and looked surprised when Bruce draped the first towel over him. He clutched at both towels and stared as Bruce considerately ignored him in favor of tending to the last bird.

"Come on, Johnny, let's get you dressed."

The boy resisted faintly, but didn't struggle as he was lifted out of the tub and wrapped in a large towel. He looked around in a daze as Bruce started drying his hair with a smaller towel.

 _"[chirp-chirp] okay?"_ Jack asked.

 _"He tie me hurt me, bad laugh..."_

Jack cocked his head. Daddy hadn't done anything like that at all. _"No. Warm feathers."_

 _"Warm,"_ John whispered, staring down at himself as underwear was tugged up his legs.

"Stand up ~~ John."

Obedience resulted in the little garment being gently pulled to cover the parts of him that most wanted protection. Pajama pants were presented, held low to the ground in silent instruction. He lifted one foot, then the other. The waistband came to rest above his hips, the skin of his legs now softly covered, too. A moment later, a scrunched-up shirt paused expectantly in front of him. Slowly, he dropped the towel and held out his arms. The shirt descended, big but gentle hands threading his arms through the sleeves and guiding his head through the neck hole and smoothing the fabric down over his chest and back. ...Warm and dry.

"~~ brush your teeth, boys."

Master's voice was still calm and friendly. This was such a very, very, very long game of his, and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was so tired of it. Not the game itself, but the end of it; he was so _tired_ waiting for the horrible end of the game to come. Master had been so gentle for _so long_ , [ _chirp-chirp_ ] couldn't even imagine how much the end would hurt. ...Maybe this was the last game ever, and the end would be Master finally killing them.

For now, though, the game was still going, and it was one of the games that didn't hurt to play, so [ _chirp-chirp_ ] scrubbed the bristly stick over his teeth and followed his flockmates to their nest and listened to Master's deep voice rolling words words words words words.

He was so tired, and the little traitor baby had stopped protecting their flock at nights. _"You guard first,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] told [ _caw_ ], then lay down and closed his eyes and escaped the world for a while, wishing Grandpa was still in his dreams to talk to rather than being awake and a friend of Master. _'Seatbelts tomorrow,'_ he thought miserably. The end might not come there, because sometimes Master liked to end games when [ _chirp-chirp_ ] didn't expect it. But sometimes he ended them exactly where it did make sense, and it would make sense for this game to finally end when he was trapped in that box with the ties and buckles.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] woke up still thinking about it. It was dark and quiet. Master and [ _warble_ ] were asleep, [ _caw_ ] was bored. _"I do not want to do morning-tying,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] said, mournfully and very quietly.

 _"I hate morning-tying!"_ [ _caw_ ] agreed. But his body added _"complaining/annoyance"_ instead of _"fear,"_ which worried [ _chirp-chirp_ ]. [ _caw_ ] was good and kept his distance from Master, and he continued to be so brave and fight, but he didn't think Master was playing a game with them. He thought that [ _warble_ ]'s stupid fake 'Daddy' was protecting them from Master, and they only had to keep fighting for just-in-case.

But even if [ _caw_ ] thought Daddy was real, he was still being safe, so it was all right for now. They just had to stay safe until the end, and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] would have to be very alert and quick to make sure his flockmates escaped whatever the worst of the end would be. Maybe if Master was busy killing [ _chirp-chirp_ ], [ _caw_ ] and [ _warble_ ] could find a way to die quick and a little hurt instead of slow and a lot hurt.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] hated this game so, so, so, so, SO, SO _MUCH_. He wanted the collar and the hitting and the bad meat and the Laughing again (with the head cloudiness, of course, because he felt sick and dead and hurt when he could think while those things happened); that was what made _sense_. All this fake gentle calm gentle, Master making him pretend to be a human boy, eating real food, all the pretend 'I love you's, remembering Mamma and Papà when they were _dead_ and would never come back, all the so many WORDS he was learning and the so much _pretending_ , it was going to kill him before Master finished the game and killed him.

 _"We can run away,"_ [ _caw_ ] was giggling.

 _"What?"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] said sharply. He and [ _warble_ ] knew that Master always, always caught them and punished them if they ran, but [ _caw_ ] still thought he could escape someday if he was very clever and fast. That was why, before this game started, Master never let [ _caw_ ] off the leash, unless he was teaching him 'escape is impossible' lessons that [ _caw_ ] refused to learn.

 _"If we run away before morning-tying, Bat cannot do morning-tying to us."_

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] thought about this. [ _caw_ ] was an idiot, Master would find them if they ran because he always did, but if all of them ran from morning-tying at the same time, maybe Master would finally get angry enough to end the game. _"...Yes."_

 _"Yes?!"_

 _"Yes. Good."_

 _"I have a good plan~!"_

 _"Good plan if he chase me, bad plan if he chase you."_

 _"He will chase you, he loves you best."_

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] shuddered. This was true. At least, it was true of That Master, but This Master loved [ _warble_ ] best. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] knew he should be pretending 'I love you' to Master much, much more, but it was so _hard_ to do it without the head cloudiness. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] would have to make sure Master chased him instead of [ _warble_ ], and they would have to tell their youngest flockmate the plan before Master woke up.

o.o.o.o.o

When Bruce awakened, the kids' behavior started making him suspicious. Peter was crouched very still by the door, watching him intently. All three of the boys were watching him intently, for that matter, though John and Jack didn't look as much like hunting dogs as their brother did.

 _"Seatbelts?"_

"Later. Not now."

 _"Seatbelts later?"_

"Yes."

John wandered away to look at a book, but his hunched shoulders and tense muscles belied the neutral expression on his face. After a moment, Jack started following Bruce around, but he was being more artful about it than usual.

 _"Daddy brush teeth?"_

"Yes," Bruce mumbled through the toothpaste.

Then, a couple of minutes later, _"Daddy comb hair?"_

"Yes." Something was definitely up; Jack could see perfectly well what he was doing.

 _"Daddy put on pants?"_

"Yes, you can see that I'm getting dressed."

 _"Daddy put on shirt?"_

"YES, Jack. We'll go to your room to get you brushed and dressed, too. Just give me a minute."

When he came out of the bathroom, John was prowling restlessly; Peter looked like he hadn't moved. Jack scampered over to his brothers, then there was a tussle and a sudden explosion of urgent birdsong. Bruce, thinking at first that the older boys were attacking Jack again, rushed to rescue him, but John and Peter backed off immediately, and Jack didn't look upset or hurt.

"Jack, are you all right?" Bruce asked urgently anyway.

"Aalll wwigh't," Jack assured him, tilting his head fetchingly. He was definitely buttering up Bruce for something.

"What are you boys up to?"

"Ggoo'd bboys," Jack said, a little too quickly, as John echoed _"We good"_ with his hands.

"...I hope so." Bruce opened the door, hoping that whatever the kids were planning wouldn't be too much of a problem.

 _TBC_


	35. Chapter 18, Part 4

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 18.4 (rough draft 2)**

All three children instantly shot out into the hall. As the younger two charged away, their brother bit Bruce hard enough to draw blood.

Bruce stifled a curse between his teeth and looked up to find John backing away, staring at him. The instant he took a step in the child's direction, John fled. Although he was obviously making himself a target, Bruce would have picked him to pursue, anyway, especially once they got downstairs. Peter and Jack were headed toward the kitchen, where there was a chance one of the other family members would catch them, but John was disappearing into the opposite wing. That was where the gym and the pool were, with myriad opportunities for an unsupervised child to get hurt, as well as a direct exit onto the grounds. Bruce sped up.

The boy was _fast_. Bruce just barely managed to block the way to the pool, where it would be a nightmare trying to catch the boy without help. John darted into the gym instead, and now Bruce was praying that he wouldn't knock any weights onto himself. Bruce charged and almost cornered the child, who pivoted and attempted to dart off in a different direction, but Bruce was ready for that and managed to catch hold of the boy's arm just in time. John whirled back. Bruce, both proud that the boy had remembered the hold breaker and guilty that he had to discourage it, barely managed to catch the boy's other wrist in time to stop him.

John gasped and stiffened, his face turned away, looking like he was preparing to endure a beating.

"John. Johnny, listen to me." He moved his hands to grasp the boy's shoulders. John wasn't fighting anymore or trying to run again, but that blank look on his face was awful. "I am not angry. I will not hurt you. I don't know why you ran, I don't know what you and your brothers are up to, but whatever it is, _I will not hurt you_. It's not safe for you to be in this part of the house alone."

John did not react at all.

"John, I'm going to hold your hand, and we're going to walk to the kitchen to eat breakfast as usual. I am not angry, and no one is going to hurt you."

The boy's gait was slow and uneven, but Bruce knew better than to lose his patience. He matched John's pace and kept a careful grip on his hand, firm but not too tight.

John continued walking like an automaton until they reached the foyer. Then he abruptly yanked hard and swung around, trying unsuccessfully to break out of Bruce's grip.

"John. John. Johnny."

Half collapsed now, John went still and stared up at Bruce in terror.

"...Dick. Listen to me. I am not going to hurt you. I'm not angry. Stand up, and we'll keep walking to the kitchen together. We're going to go eat breakfast."

 _"...You,"_ John finally used his free hand to sign, _"me."_

"I will not hurt you."

There was a pause. Then fury suddenly washed over John's face. _"You catch me! Bad me! Bad!"_ Tears were starting to stream down his face.

Bruce knelt so he wasn't towering over the frightened child so much. "John- Dick, I don't know how else to say it. I am not angry, I will not punish you, no one will hurt you."

"...[ _warble_ ], [ _caw_ ]...!"

"No one will hurt them, either. Nothing bad is going to happen- ...Well, I promise that nothing bad is going to happen for the next thirty minutes. We will go to the kitchen and eat what Alfred cooked for us." Then he remembered that Alfred was sick and, if he was cooking this morning, he shouldn't be.

John exhaled, still looking miserable but at least a little calmer. "Mm...mmm'nnn. _Grandpa."_

"Yes, thirty minutes. If Alfred's not in the kitchen, we can still find him to say good morning."

Fresh tears spilled down John's cheeks and he made a harsh bird noise, but he stood up and meekly allowed Bruce to lead him the rest of the way to the kitchen.

Alfred was standing at the stove as usual, but he was wearing gloves and a face mask, and was arguing with Tim.

"I _can_ scramble eggs and make oatmeal, Alfred," Tim was saying insistently. "There are tons of leftovers in the fridge. We're not going to starve if you take the day off."

"I'll go back to bed as soon as I've seen you off to work-" Alfred grunted when John crashed into him with a tight hug. He put the spatula down and hugged the boy back. "Good morning, Master John."

"Good morning, Alfred," Bruce said, approaching. "I'm your employer, and I'm ordering you to go back to bed right now, or you're fired."

" _Thank_ you," Tim said.

"Tim's right. We can get by without a butler for a day or two, and besides, sick people shouldn't be handling other people's food."

"You really are a brat when you put your mind to it, Master Bruce," Alfred huffed. He frowned down at the upset bird in concern. "Master John, what's wrong?"

"He thinks someone's going to hit him," Bruce grumbled, "and he won't believe me when I tell him that's not going to happen."

"Come," Alfred said gently, leading the child to a chair. Tim put on an apron to protect his suit and took Alfred's place at the stove. There was already fruit and toast on the table, which Alfred started coaxing into the boy. John much preferred to just sit there and cling to him, but he did manage an occasional nibble.

Bruce, meanwhile, had his phone out to check the other children's trackers. Peter was hiding in the front hall closet. Jack was more sloppily hidden, peering around the edge of the entryway to watch the people in the kitchen. Bruce set his phone on the table in front of him to keep an eye on while he ate.

Tim finished the eggs, brought the serving bowl to the table, and took a seat beside John. Alfred looked like he was falling asleep in his chair. "Come on, Johnnybird," Tim coaxed, "don't waste my cooking. I worked hard on this."

John slowly reached for a tiny piece of the portion that was set on his plate. Bruce made a mental note to make sure he ate more later, when his appetite would hopefully return.

Alfred finally surrendered and went to bed, after pointing out to Bruce the reward cooler he'd already prepared. John's comfort-seeking grip moved to Tim's jacket pocket. Bruce set up his phone so that it would remind him to check on his sick butler every hour.

Throughout breakfast, Peter stayed stubbornly hidden, but Jack kept creeping out to watch from the kitchen threshold, then would flee, giggling, whenever anyone looked at or spoke to him.

"Jack," Bruce ordered at one point, a little fed up, "come here and eat."

 _"Hiding,"_ Jack signed with an irritating little smile as if he thought this was all a game.

"Jack, I am-" Bruce glanced at John, who was not looking at him but had gone very still. "...I don't like what you're doing," he finally said, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Jack let go of the edge and started backing away, still with that coy expression, but John suddenly started cawing angrily. Jack, looking chastened, finally came to join his family at the table.

"You don't have much time to eat," Bruce warned. "You'll probably have to finish after- Afterward."

 _"Please give me eggs,_ e'ggg, pllease," Jack asked blithely.

When the time came, Bruce stood up. John put his hands over his ears and bowed over.

"Nno sseatbbet!" Jack shouted.

"We are going to practice with seatbelts," Bruce said, hanging the handle of the cooler over one arm, "and then you can finish breakfast and play."

"No!"

John, looking dazed, let himself be tugged out of his seat and led toward the garage.

"No, no, no, no!" Jack complained as he was pulled along. "NooooO! No! I ssay no, Daddy!"

Bruce didn't bother to respond.

"NO, DADDY!" Jack bellowed furiously.

"I hear you."

 _"Angry angry angry,"_ Jack vented with his free hand. When the car door shut behind him, he plopped on the seat and crossed his arms. "Bbad Daddy."

Bruce set the timer down beside him and exhaled. He looked at his young sons. Jack glared back; John watched him out of the corner of his eye. "...Jack, we are going to use an actual seatbelt this time."

The pout dropped from the child's face, replaced with alarm. _"Seatbelt now! First seatbelt then ice cream!"_

"Yes. First you will wear a seatbelt, then you will get ice cream." He reached for the buckle.

For the first time all morning, Jack looked at him fearfully. "Nno. No, Daddy."

"Just for a few seconds."

Jack fought him. He whimpered when he lost, pushing hard against Bruce with his hands and feet. He started to cry.

"Jack, look. Look at how you're pushing me, you're using your hands to do that. Your arms are free, your legs are free. You're okay. You are not hurt."

Jack stared up at him, tears still rolling down his face.

"Ten more seconds. Ten, nine, eight, seven..."

"Ffee, ttoo, wwuh," Jack whispered along with him at the end. Bruce unclasped the buckle, and Jack dissolved into sobs. He crawled into Bruce's lap and hugged him tightly, and Bruce hugged him back.

"You're not hurt," Bruce whispered.

Jack wailed for a while, then pulled back, sniffling. "Oo'kkkay?"

"You're okay."

"Bbad bboy?"

"No, you did very well. You were very good. You will get ice cream soon."

"...Ggoo'dd bboy?"

"You were very good. Fifteen seconds wearing the seatbelt, you did very well."

"Ggoo'd jjobb, Jja'ckk, ggoo'd jjob..."

"You did a good job. You did a very good job."

 _"...Him seatbelt?"_

Bruce looked at John, who was curled up and enduring. "...Johnny? Do you think you can try the seatbelt for just a few seconds?"

No response. After a pause, Bruce slid over and gently cupped the boy's face, lifting it. "John," he murmured. "Just a few seconds. You can do it."

John stared at him. When the strap was crossed over his chest, he started to struggle.

Bruce didn't clasp it, just held it in place. "Five," he said immediately, "four, three, two, one." He moved the seatbelt back around to its resting position. "You're finished, Johnny, it's over. You're done for today. Finished."

John was breathing hard, staring into the distance with wide eyes. He knew what the game was now. Master was going to coax them, bit by bit, into tolerating the straps, and when they let him completely tie them down so they couldn't move, he would start to Laugh at his trick and then he'd kill them.

[ _warble_ ] reached to pat his head. "[ _chirp-chirp_ ] ggoo'd bboy." He added in bird language, _"Danger finished. Safe, [chirp-chirp], safe, I love you."_

 _"Nowhere is safe,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] responded, and burst into tears.

He wouldn't get out of the car again; Bruce had to lift him out and set him gently on the floor by the cooler. "Ice cream? Ice cream? Ice cream?" Jack asked, in both sign language and verbally, over and over again until Bruce finished unwrapping the little ice cream sandwich and put it in his hands. The child huffed out a relieved breath and bit into his treat.

Bruce crouched to offer the other boy his reward. "John, would you like ice cream or chi-?"

John pushed his hands away. If he couldn't escape Master, then he didn't want bribes, he wanted real comfort. Master wouldn't betray him before the game was over (...probably). Master would keep being sweet and gentle until [ _chirp-chirp_ ] let himself be completely tied down, but that was never going to happen, [ _chirp-chirp_ ] would NEVER let himself be tied, so Master would have to get tired of losing the game and get angry first. But that wouldn't happen for a long time. Today, Master would still pretend to be sweet (probably). "Iii...ssowwyy..."

"Do you want me to sing here, or in the living room?"

John climbed on him and clung to him, his weight forcing Bruce to rock back into a sitting position. He returned the embrace. _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_

John cried quietly. Jack licked the last of the ice cream from his fingers and cuddled into Bruce's side.

 _"_ _ _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_ "_

It was such a short song, Bruce had to launch into "La Vie en rose" again to give John time to stop crying. By the end of it, he was subdued but calm, clinging to Bruce for comfort less desperately. Bruce was pretending not to notice Peter peeking out at them around the edge of the door to the house. "Johnny, let's go to the living room. You can watch videos while Peter does his turn."

Both children stiffened and stared up at him. _"Fight Brother seatbelt,"_ Jack signed unhappily. John's face twisted in displeasure, and he retreated from Bruce to hide behind a stack of crates.

Bruce wanted to get the children safely settled before he went to deal with their brother, but Jack wouldn't leave him, and John wouldn't leave the garage. In the end, Bruce set up a Robin Monitor to keep an eye on John while he followed Peter's tracker (the boy had vanished again) and Jack followed him. "Daddy, [ _caw_ ] ddohh't llike it! [ _caw_ ] ssay nno, Daddy!"

"I know, but he has to practice. You practiced today and John practiced today, so now it's Peter's turn."

He found the boy and doggedly dragged him back out to the car. Jack ducked to join John behind the crates, and the two of them watched the car door shut.

"Nno!" Peter shouted. "Nno! _I hate seatbelts!"_

"That's too bad." Inhale, exhale. "Peter, we're going to use the actual seatbelt today, for a few seconds."

Peter stared at him, not quite comprehending but immediately picking up on Bruce's tense body language. Then he saw Bruce reaching for the buckle. "NNOOO! NNOOO!"

He fought savagely. Bruce had to count from five to one close to his ear so he could hear it and at least subconsciously register that there was both a required amount of time and a definite end. The buckle came away again.

The instant he was freed, Peter scrambled to the farthest corner and stared at Bruce with huge, horrified eyes.

"Finished. You're finished for today, Peter. You wore your seatbelt for five seconds, and now it's over until tomorrow."

Peter kept staring at him in disbelief.

"John practiced and Jack practiced. Even though you ran away, you still have to practice, too."

After a long pause, Peter's face twisted. "Bboosse ppackkiss! _Seatbelt me, brothers, YOU!"_ He pounded his fist against the seat in anger.

"...You're right. If you have to practice, then so do I." Bruce put his seatbelt on.

Peter's mouth fell open in astonishment. They stared at each other for a minute, then Bruce remembered to relax and act like this was no big deal (because it _wasn't_ ). "I need to start bringing some toys and books for you," he muttered.

Peter's face changed again. His mouth stretched into a Joker smile that made Bruce's flesh creep. His face looked evil - not mischievous or parodic, but genuinely _evil_. He slunk close to Bruce and put his hand on the man's face, thumb slipping into his mouth, chirring absently in a mixture of bird language and a darkly familiar cadence, _What sort of fun shall we have tonight, Angry Bird?_

Nausea roiled through Bruce's stomach. Peter was obviously reenacting a role-reversed memory or something similar; the thought of him bound helplessly while that _monster_ had touched him like this, had smiled at him so predatorily, and had done whatever he had done afterward while the child couldn't lift a hand to stop it... Being restrained suddenly felt suffocating.

Bruce ripped off the seatbelt and lurched heavily against the door, just barely stopping himself from opening it. He couldn't spill out of the car in a panic where the other kids could see; he had to set a good example...had to set...the example...

Peter, the Joker expression gone as quickly as it had appeared, stared at Bruce gasping for breath and sweating and desperately clutching at the doorframe. Bruce forced himself to take a few deep breaths, then tried unsuccessfully to reach for the door handle.

Peter didn't seem in a hurry to get out this time. _"...You're scared,"_ he realized.

Bruce's first instinct was to deny it, but then he sensed how critical it was that he be honest in this moment. "...Yes."

 _"Bad Laugh Man hurt you."_

"Yes," Bruce whispered. The physical injuries from their fights were insignificant compared to the agony of knowing, or even suspecting, what a version of Bruce himself had done to his children. "Peter, I'm- I don't have the words to express how sorry I am. I would do _anything_ to have prevented your suffering."

Peter lost interest as so many unrecognized words rolled over him. "Ai cceam. _Please give me ice cream! I want!"_

"Yes, all right." This time, he was able to open the door and compose his face before stepping out. Peter scrambled out after him and bounded over to the cooler, which he clawed open.

John hurried over to him and held him. _"Hurt? [caw] hurt?"_

 _"No no no not hurt, I want sweet cold!"_

 _"Sweet cold is very good,"_ Jack agreed.

 _TBC_

A/N: They've seen Bruce wear a seatbelt before, but they were too caught up in their own distress to remember it.


	36. Chapter 18, Part 5

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 18.5 (rough draft 2)**

 **A/N: I don't know anything about the legal system, I don't even watch lawyer shows. I did hours of Internet research on relevant family law and looked for books at the library, but still couldn't find a lot of what I was looking for (including what a lawyer's workspace, co-workers and/or employees, and daily activities are like). I'm just making stuff up here.**

 ***Trigger warning for harsh reference to a pregnancy miscarriage.**

o.o.o

The next order of business was to get the boys fed properly, since John hadn't had much breakfast, Jack hadn't gotten to finish his, and Peter had had none except his ice cream. Bruce let the children pick something to watch and went to get food for them.

He was startled to walk into the kitchen and find a mess. _'Well, of course it's a mess, Alfred has the day off,'_ he reminded himself. He didn't actually know how to load a dishwasher, so he piled all the dirty breakfast things in the sink to be washed later, throwing out the food that was no good after sitting out for so long and putting the rest in containers to keep in the refrigerator.

Then he had to find food for his children to eat. He didn't trust himself with any appliance except the toaster and tried to avoid things that would make too much of a mess, so what he ended up bringing back to the living room was dry toast, dry cereal, granola, milk he had poured into closed bottles, and baby carrots (because he figured the kids surely needed a healthier addition to such a meal).

The younger two energetically gobbled their food as much as they could while splitting their attention between asking for each morsel and watching the show. John looked so uninterested that Bruce didn't even try the usual feeding method with him. The boy ignored a full plate when it was set in front of him, but chewed and swallowed mechanically, his eyes still fixed on the TV, whenever a spoon or straw was held to his mouth.

Bruce's phone rang around midmorning. He winced guiltily - with all the seatbelt drama and his lack of a functioning butler, he'd forgotten that he had agreed to video conference with his lawyers this morning. He rejected the call but immediately texted, _Give me ten minutes, I'll call you back._ Then he hurried to retrieve his laptop.

Right now, few people knew that the birds were alternate universe counterparts of Bruce's sons, but it would inevitably become common knowledge someday. With Batman's luck, some villain or journalist or detective would at some point age up a photograph of John until they basically had a picture of Nightwing, and then, if they knew that John was a version of Dick Grayson, they would know Nightwing's identity. Although Jason and Tim were in less danger (Red Hood usually concealed his whole face, and Jack's facial scars were minimal), someone who knew what they were doing could get proof of their identities as well.

Bruce was set on preventing the existence (outside his own files and the blurry news photos from the Batpocalypse) of any visual record of the children's masks and resulting scars, particularly John's. Sunglasses wouldn't work this time - he could get away with it in public, but not in a more intimate setting with people who were trying to help him get guardianship of the children in question.

Bruce already had a computer program that automatically hunted for and deleted or corrupted photos and footage of his family when they were in uniform; he had recently modified a version of it for situations like this. He set it up to activate when he established a connection. He had agreed to an audio-only recording, but if anyone on his legal team made a video recording of any part of the interview, his hunting program would copy the resulting files to the Batcomputer and then corrupt the originals. His efforts were probably unnecessary, but his paranoia had served him well in the past, and he would continue to rely on it.

He called back, using a video connection on his laptop. JoAnn answered instantly. She was sitting at a conference table beside her partner, Darcy, surrounded by paperwork.

 _"Well, hello, Mr. Wayne! This is JoAnn, the gal you're paying to help you adopt some kids! I'm so excited to finally see your generically handsome face again! I'm so excited to think that maybe, JUST MAYBE,_ _this_ _will be the day when we_ _finally_ _get to talk to your little bundles of joy, because that would make finishing your paperwork SO MUCH EASIER, you dang-blasted troll."_

Bruce's mouth twitched with amusement at her tone, which was of exaggerated cheerfulness layered over frustration. This wasn't the first time he'd caused her and her team headaches, and it surely would not be the last. "JoAnn~!" he replied in his most vacuous Brucie voice, "How are you this lovely morning?" The birds stared at him like he'd turned into an alien, and he remembered this was only the second time they'd seen his Brucie persona.

 _"Whatever, Wayne. I don't have time for your crap."_ Beside her, Darcy pressed his fist to his mouth in an attempt to stifle laughter.

"What about my kids' crap, do you have time for theirs?" He sensed the birds gathering behind his chair to peer cautiously at the laptop.

 _"Don't be ridiculous, those precious angels you're trying to get your claws on don't even know what crap smells like."_ A plump, middle-aged woman hurried into view and took a seat just behind JoAnn. _"Oh, good, Emi's back, we can get started."_

 _"I'm Emilia Jones, the ASL interpreter,"_ the woman explained.

 _"Hello, I'm B-r-u-c-e, it's nice to meet you,"_ Bruce signed.

Emilia looked delighted. _"Ms. Mendez!"_ she exclaimed, _"He is_ _not_ _an irredeemable piece of- He's not what you called him earlier!"_

 _"You only think that because you've never tried to get hold of him or pry important information out of him,"_ JoAnn huffed. _"Now, where are the cutie patooties?"_

Bruce turned to the children. "Boys, say hi to Ms. Mendez, Mr. Holt, and Ms. Jones."

John didn't move and Peter ducked back behind the chair, but Jack cautiously pulled himself up until he was lying on the armrest, propping an arm against Bruce's shoulder. He pointed at the screen. "Daddy, ddere ppeop'ull onn co'pputterr."

JoAnn's face softened into a warm expression, and Darcy smiled widely. _"Aw, hey there, buddy!"_

"Daddy?"

"These people work for me, Jack. They've been making documents for you and your brothers, and now they're helping me make sure that you can live with me until you grow up." As he spoke, Peter hoisted himself up the back of the chair and poked his head over Bruce's other shoulder. "JoAnn, Darcy, Ms. Jones, this is Jack and Peter. John..." He glanced down at the boy, who sighed and crawled into his lap. Bruce rested his arms around him. "This is Johnny."

 _"Sweetest sweeties in the whole wide world,"_ JoAnn cooed. Then her tone instantly sharpened. _"They're too good for you, Wayne."_

Jack was reading her body language. "Daddy, ssshhe nnicce," he remarked, causing Darcy to laugh. The child sat up so he could add with his hands, _"Protect children."_ Emilia murmured a translation.

 _"You've got some smart kids there, Bruce,"_ Darcy said.

"I certainly do."

 _"Why are they still in pajamas at this hour?"_ JoAnn demanded.

"Uhhh..."

Before Bruce could think of something to say that didn't make him look like a lazy parent, there was a clatter and some exclaiming in the background ( _"Are those Mr. Wayne's kids?! ARE THOSE THE BABIES?!"_ ). Two more young women ducked into view. _"Awwww, hi, babies! Hiiiiii!"_ the one with freckles and curly hair squealed. Her companion, dark-skinned and impeccably dressed, smiled and murmured a greeting as well.

"And that's Ms. April and Ms. Diamond," Bruce introduced to the boys. "They work for the people who work for me."

 _"Pretty,"_ Peter commented. Emilia gave a bark of laughter before catching herself and translating.

 _"Awww, you think we're pretty? You think we're pretty, little cutie who I'm guessing iiiiis...Peter?"_

JoAnn pointed to match names to faces. _"Peter, Jack, John. Now SIT your tushes down and hush!"_ she commanded, _"Or I'll kick you back to your desks."_

 _"Yes, ma'am,"_ Diamond drawled amiably. She and April pulled up chairs behind their bosses, looking delighted to be allowed to watch.

 _"All right, all right!"_ JoAnn crowed. _"Let's get down to business before Wayne escapes again! First off, I notice Mr. Jack there already calls you 'Daddy'?"_

"He does, yes," Bruce said, trying not to blush.

 _"And Mr. Jack, Stealer of Hearts, why do you call that man your daddy?"_ she asked, trying to clarify how comfortable Jack was with his future guardian and what he knew about his biological parents.

Jack patted both palms on top of Bruce's head. "Daddy."

 _"Because he is your daddy. Got it."_ JoAnn, unable to completely hide her smile despite the lack of useful information, glanced back to make sure that either April or Diamond were taking notes (they both were).

 _"What about you, Peter?"_ Darcy asked. _"Do you think of Bruce as your daddy, too?"_

"Bboosse ssayy... Boosse-" Peter stopped, looking frustrated.

"Peter," Bruce said, "Ms. Jones, that nice lady there, she knows sign language. You can talk with your hands if you want, and Ms. Jones will understand and tell the others what you're saying."

Peter's face lit up, and he plunged into ASL. _"Two people! Bad Laugh Man, Daddy! THAT bad man, we eat him; THIS one, Daddy. Angry, bad man Laugh; happy, Daddy play and sing and FOOD. I like it."_

Everyone on the laptop looked extremely confused.

 _"That...really is what he said,"_ Emilia said apologetically when she'd stuttered to the end of her interpretation.

"Peter," Bruce said, only somewhat less confused himself, "I know for a fact that you did not eat the Man Who Laughs."

Peter huffed. _"You eat him."_

"I did not eat him, either."

 _"Bad Laugh Man angry is different!"_ Jack contributed. _"Daddy angry is gentle."_

JoAnn made a sharp swiping gesture. _"Okay, STOP. The judge isn't going to ask who ate who. Peter Pumpkin Pie, is Bruce your daddy?"_

Peter stared intently at Bruce and didn't answer.

 _"What does he call you, Bruce?"_

"Just 'Bruce,' I think," Bruce said, having a hard time breaking eye contact with the still staring child.

 _"Is your daddy somewhere else, Peter?"_

The boy finally blinked and gasped a little. " _crow_ "

"He's upset, or he doesn't know how to answer," Bruce explained. "Peter, they're asking about the father you had before me, and before the Man Who Laughs. Was there a man who took care of you before Laughs got you?"

"NNO!"

"All right." He wondered if Peter remembered Willis Todd at all, and if he was upset because the man had abused and abandoned him and his mother, or upset because of the question itself. "That's okay. We just wanted to know."

 _"What about your mommy, Peter?"_ Darcy asked.

"NNOOOO!" Peter threw himself to the floor. John hopped down after him and petted him soothingly.

"[ _caw_ ] ssad," Jack said solemnly.

"That cawing sound is what they call Peter. We might have to give him a minute. He was close to his mother - he told me how he lost her, and it was very traumatic for him."

 _"He told you?"_

"Yes, his first or second week here. He stayed with her body after she passed away, until Laughs found him and took him."

 _"Poor kiddo,"_ Darcy murmured.

 _"Hopefully he can tell us that himself,"_ JoAnn said sympathetically, _"but in the meantime, Mr. Jack: what about_ _your_ _mommy?"_

Jack cocked his head in confusion. "Mmommy?"

"Your mother and father, Jack," Bruce said. "The parents you had before me and before the Man Who Laughs. Can you tell us about them?"

 _"Daddy save me."_

"But they need to know about the people who took care of you _before_ me. Where did the Man Who Laughs find you, Jack? Where were you when the Man Who Laughs came and took you away?"

 _"...Bad place."_

"Was it a house?"

Jack covered his ears.

"Jack. Jackie." It took some coaxing before Bruce was able to get Jack to pay attention again. "The Man Who Laughs is gone. He can't hurt you anymore. We just want to know what the place was that he took you from."

 _"Big...big."_ Tears started to slip down his face. _"I love you, Daddy. Bad them take me away from Daddy. Alone, I miss Daddy, VERY sad."_

"...Jack," Bruce said cautiously. "You did not meet me before the Man Who Laughs. You lived with your parents, didn't you? Then the Man Who Laughs took you away from your parents."

 _"You know this for a fact, Bruce?"_ Darcy asked sharply.

"I- No, not-"

 _"We have to hear it from the kids themselves."_

Bruce tried to hold on to his patience. "I know for sure that I brought the children to my house _after_ the Man Who Laughs died."

 _"You eat Bad Laugh Man."_

 _'Keep your temper,'_ Bruce reminded himself yet again. "Wait just a moment." He fetched a framed photograph of the Drakes from a corner of the mantelpiece, showed it briefly to JoAnn and the others, then gave it to Jack. "Look. Don't you remember these people? They were your mother and fath-"

Jack hurled the photograph across the room. "NNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" he screamed. "NNNOOOOOOOOO! NNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Then he had such a violent tantrum that even John didn't try to approach him. His brothers simply perched near and watched sadly as he screamed and wept. "NNOOOOOOOOOO!"

Bruce was thoroughly alarmed. "Jack-!" He couldn't even hear himself over the screaming. On the laptop, JoAnn's mouth was pressed into a flat line and Darcy looked like his heart was breaking. Emilia and April were wide-eyed with shock; Diamond's face was impassive, but her eyes glinted knowingly. "I- I can't-"

 _"It's fine,"_ JoAnn said calmly. Bruce had to read her lips to understand her. _"We'll wait."_

So they waited, until Jack's screams finally died down and he was sobbing his heart out. John and Peter piled themselves on top of him to comfort him. Bruce tried to reach out, but couldn't find enough of Jack to rest his hand on.

 _"Mr. Jack,"_ JoAnn finally said briskly, _"are you finished?"_ Bruce adjusted the laptop so they could see the kids on the floor.

Jack squirmed under his brothers until he could raise his head. His eyes were blazing with determination and grief. "Bbba'dd Llllafff Mmman, ttta'kke mme fff, ffrrromm D-DADDY," he choked out. "DADDY. _DADDY!_ " He pointed violently. "HHE Dddadd'yyy!"

"JoAnn, I swear I-"

 _"Shut up. Later."_ She tapped a stack of papers on the tabletop. _"Mr. Peter, I'm going to ask you another question. Are there nice things to eat at Bruce's house?"_

She was successful in keeping the interview going while giving the kids a break from more traumatic questions. Peter's wary look gave way to eagerness. _"Eggs toast bacon bananas cereal peanut butter potatoes beans fish veggie burger apples carrots ice cream muffins...!"_

Darcy finally interrupted, _"That sounds DELICIOUS, kiddo! Looks like Bruce certainly keeps you well-fed."_

 _"Good food, yes!"_ Peter agreed.

 _"What's the 'veggie burger' thing about?"_ JoAnn asked.

"The children have an aversion to meat," Bruce explained, "I'm pretty sure because of...of what _he_ fed them." JoAnn grimaced and Diamond briefly closed her eyes. The others all looked a little confused, though Darcy realized it on his own a moment later, and the answer to April's whispered question had her gasping in horror. "Peter and Jack will sometimes eat a bit of non-red meat, but John won't touch any animal flesh at all. My son Damian is already a vegetarian, so it's been easy to make extra portions for the kids."

 _"I see."_ Now that the children were calmer, JoAnn tried again with a difficult question. _"Johnny love, what about your parents? Tell me about them."_

"Nno."

 _"Why not?"_

 _"Hurts,"_ he signed.

 _"Why does it hurt, sweetheart?"_

 _"Dead."_

 _"Which one? Was it Mommy who went away, or Daddy who went away?"_

Tears began to spill down John's cheeks. _"Mama Daddy fall. Mama Daddy burn. Gone, gone, [crow, crow, crow, crow]...!"_

 _"All right, lovey, all right, just like poor Dickie Grayson, I got it."_

 _"GIVE ME MAMA DADDY!"_

 _"I know you want them back. I want my daughter back, too, but she's currently a pecan-sized pile of rotting tissue in a landfill somewhere, and I'm never going to see her before I get to heaven. I just gotta live with that."_ Darcy, who, like Bruce, had known about the miscarriage already, looked as pained as Bruce felt; the other women, who were only just finding out, looked horrified.

 _"Mama Daddy dead,"_ John signed stiffly, and JoAnn had to prod the stricken Emilia before she remembered to interpret.

 _"My little CeeCee's dead, too. It makes me sad and ANGRY."_

"Ssssaa a'gggeee!" John yelled in agreement.

JoAnn sniffed and cleared her throat and briskly flipped a page over. _"Mr. Peter, let's try this again, because you're the one we have to hear it from. Do you love your mommy?"_

 _"I LOVE MAMA!"_

 _"Good. Good boys love their mamas. But now you gotta tell me, can your mama take care of you right now?"_

He started to cry again. _"Mama dead!"_

 _"I'm so sorry, precious."_

 _"She burn!"_

 _"I wish that hadn't happened to her, baby child. I wish your mama was alive and well and could look after you."_

 _"Dead."_ Peter covered his face with his hands for a minute, then, to Bruce's surprise, crawled into his lap for comfort.

 _"Jack,"_ Darcy asked. _"Would you like me to call you Tim, or Jack?"_

"I Ttimmyy, I nno Ttimmy, I Jja'ckk."

 _"So you're not Timmy anymore, you're Jack, huh."_

"Ttimmy bbig. I llli'ttlle," he switched to sign language in mid-sentence, _"I grow I big like Busy."_

" 'Busy' is their sign-name for Tim," Bruce explained when Emilia had interpreted it.

 _"All right, Jack-who's-going-to-be-big-like-Tim,"_ Darcy continued. _"Why were you so upset when Bruce showed you that picture?"_

 _"...Lonely."_

 _"Who was lonely?"_

 _"ME! I miss Daddy!"_

"He's not remembering it right," Bruce said desperately. "It's impossible for him to have known me before his kidnapping."

Darcy waved for him to be quiet. _"Do you have more than one daddy, Jack? Is Bruce your daddy, and is someone else also your daddy?"_

Tears started to slip down Jack's cheeks again, and he took a long time to answer. "...Nnno."

 _"So you only have one daddy, and it's Bruce?"_ Darcy sighed in mild frustration.

 _"He's Daddy!"_

 _"Who was that man in the picture?"_

 _"Bad man! Take me away from Daddy!"_

 _"I thought it was the Batman Who Laughs who took you away."_

"Nnnooo!" Jack shouted in a rage. _"Stupid you! Daddy loves me! Photograph people do not love me! They take me away from Daddy, Bad Laugh Man take me away from people, Daddy kill Bad Laugh Man, he save me love me!"_

"I didn't kill anyone," Bruce groaned hopelessly.

 _"You have psych evals done on them yet, Bruce?"_ JoAnn asked, matter-of-fact.

"Uh...working on it." He had nearly completed psychological profiles for the birds, similar to ones he had made multiple times for his older children. The honest evaluations were combined with bogus credentials as well as feedback from genuine professionals who hadn't known the true context of what they were giving input on. Bruce hadn't had time yet to look for a therapist he trusted (a search made even more difficult by Gotham City having a higher number of villainous or corrupt mental health professionals than average), and he couldn't risk giving such access to his youngest children, still unschooled in keeping the Bat's secrets, to therapists outside the hero community, particularly since the children were misremembering things. Even if Batman stayed a secret and Bruce stayed out of jail, he might lose his little birds - he might even lose Damian and Duke - if too many things went wrong.

 _"Hmmm."_ Darcy ran a hand through his hair. _"I don't suppose you happen to have death certificates for the Jack and Janet Drake of the kids' homeworld lying around, do you?"_

"...I might be able to obtain them," Bruce said, very cautiously. By which he meant, _'I can forge them if you think I can get away with it.'_

April and Emilia looked confused; JoAnn, Darcy, and Diamond looked solemn.

The latter rose from her chair and moved closer to the screen. _"Jack. You have three parents, don't you? You have a dad who loves you, and a mom and dad who maybe didn't love you so much."_

 _"...They go,"_ Jack signed with tiny gestures, whimpering. _"I'm alone. It hurts. I miss Daddy, I miss him! I want Daddy!"_

 _"Mr. Wayne is a real nice daddy, huh. What about the other dad, and the mom? When they left you alone, did they walk out of the house, or did they go to sleep?"_

 _"They leave. ...They sleeping. ...Mom, Dad...sleep- They do not wake up! Why they do not wake up?!"_ He covered his face and screamed again. Bruce gently shifted Peter aside so he could move close enough to lay a hand on Jack's head. Jack frantically scrambled into Bruce's lap and wept for a bit as Bruce held him. Diamond took a seat again as everyone silently congratulated her on coming up with a successful way to frame the question.

"Your first mother and father were sleeping?" Bruce finally asked. "Jack, how did it smell? Did it smell good in that room, or did it smell bad?"

It took a minute, but Jack, still crying, finally gathered himself to sign. _"Smell bad! Bugs... I call 9-1-1, wait come alone, it's very quiet my heart hurts, Bad Laugh Man! BAD LAUGH MAN!"_ He wept some more.

"That's when the Man Who Laughs came?" Bruce clarified softly.

 _"He say HELP! He say- BAD MAN, he LIE!_ Hhhe lllie, Daddy, he ssay I hhehhpp yyou, he tta'kke mme, he HHHUHHT me, Daddy! _He hurt me, why he hurt me, why he hurt me...?!"_

 _"Bad,"_ John had started to sign, _"Bad Laugh Man, bad, he take birds and tie us hurt us."_

 _"I think that's all we need from the kiddos,"_ Darcy spoke up quietly, writing something down. _"Confirmation from all three of them; two sets of parents and the third mother deceased, third father out of the picture - homeworld claims are nonexistent."_

Bruce exhaled. "What else do you need?"

 _"For the elder Mr. Todd to CALL US BACK,"_ JoAnn said, _"and your doctor - ANY licensed doctor, Wayne - to sign the abuse reports and physical evaluations."_

"Dr. Thompkins is actually supposed to meet with me later today."

 _"Good. We're also going to need to get hold of someone from the Justice League, gosh darn it to heck."_

"Do you...need my help with that?"

 _"Got something we're gonna try first. Unless you know EXACTLY who took the sweet darlings away from their abuser?"_

"From what I understand, they were present during the final fight between Batman and Laughs. Batman took them away from the battlefield and handed them over to me. I don't know if they made any stops or interacted with anyone in between."

 _"Batman,"_ JoAnn said in disgust. _"Couldn't have been Cyborg, huh. I bet HE picks up when people call him..."_

"I can pass along a message to Batman for you, if you want."

 _"What, and wait three months for him to bother responding? No, thank you, SIR. We'll let you know if we're desperate. If you bother to pick up the phone, that is."_

"I'm honestly not _that_ bad at answering messages, JoAnn..."

 _TBC_

A/N: Batman is paranoid, and I am paranoid, so I write Bruce taking the same precautions I would if I had the same resources, expertise, and motivation he does. X'D

I don't know if I made it clear enough in the story, but, yes, Jack is remembering things wrong! He thinks that canon-Bruce has always been his real daddy, and that first the Drakes and then the Batman Who Laughs took him away before Daddy finally found him again and rescued him.

This is from a review reply I sent to a reader that also might help clarify:

The main thing the lawyers were trying to do with this interview, other than incidentally observing how the kids interact with Bruce and how comfortable with him they are, was to establish firsthand evidence of who currently has the closest thing to rightful custody of the kids and whether the children will be available for Bruce to adopt them. JoAnn and the others have already been told everything about the kids' situation that doesn't risk the Bats' vigilante work (the kids are AU versions of Dick, Jay, and Tim; their biological parents are all dead, etc.), but since this is such an unusual situation (they're also having to establish the kids as legally existing persons at the same time and have not yet finished that process), it's challenging.

In ordinary cases, they'd have birth certificates and death certificates and "Yes I give up rights to my child" or "No I do not give up rights to my child" or "This parent is unfit to have responsibility for this child" paperwork, but here, they're having to start from scratch to prove to a judge that, yes, these kids are available for adoption, and no biological parent or former guardian is going to come bursting in on the scene later, suing Bruce to get their kid back.

They also have to work delicately because the kids are so traumatized and full of triggers - like, you can't just flat-out deny a kid's sincere statement even if you know it's totally wrong, you have to sort of work around him to get the info you need.

That's what I was _going_ for, anyway. (Also, stuff like the food question was asked almost solely to calm the kids down, something really easy to keep the interview going but give them a break from being traumatized.)


	37. Chapter 18, Part 6

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 18.6 (rough draft 2)**

They finished up the interview with some pleasant questions about favorite games and books, just to put the children more at ease so they wouldn't wholly associate Bruce's legal team with traumatic interrogations.

When goodbyes were exchanged and the connection was cut, Bruce checked his hunting program. Darcy's computer had been recording audio only, as agreed, but JoAnn's had been capturing video footage of the interview. Bruce knew that she likely had no ill intent and was just trying to do a thorough job while working for a difficult client, so he felt a little guilty as he made sure that her copy of the file was corrupted.

Then he put the matter out of his head and turned his attention back to his family. _'Alfred is sick,'_ he remembered for about the tenth time. Which meant he was the one who had to carry the dirty plates to the kitchen, where he found two very unhappy animals waiting for him.

The instant he entered the room, Alfred leaped up and started twining around his legs, meowing loudly. Titus had been lying, sadly patient, beside his feeder, but was now up and gazing up at Bruce expectantly.

"All right, all right, just give me a minute..." Except he didn't know where the dog and cat food were kept, and he wasn't about to wake up Damian when the teen needed all the sleep he could get. Bruce had only just opened the pantry door to look for animal food when he overheard the children burst into a squabble in the living room. He hastily dumped some cold cuts on the floor for Titus and Alfred, then hurried back to the kids to find that Peter and Jack were fighting over the TV remote as John climbed a shelf.

Bruce hoisted John off the shelf, put on another show for Peter, gave a remote for a different device to Jack to play with, then went to fetch some daytime clothes to dress his children in. He had to make three trips, because John insisted on the salmon-colored overalls he knew were in his closet rather than the sensible outfit Bruce had brought for him, and his brothers took great enjoyment in pretending to be super-picky about their outfits as well. Bruce finally had to put his foot down, and there was some pouting before the children were finally dressed for the day.

Then Bruce remembered that he had to gather up all the discarded clothes and put them away, because Alfred wasn't available to pick up after them like usual; then he had to clean up all the crumbs the children had spilled during their meal - without a vacuum, because loud noises frightened the birds; and _then_ he remembered that there was a third animal on his property. Thankfully, Bat-Cow had been dry since before her rescue and didn't need to be milked, so all Bruce needed to do was lead her outside to graze and make sure she had fresh water available.

Upstairs again, Bruce closed his eyes for a long moment and exhaled deeply. (It was amazing how stressed out he could still feel even though he wasn't going to work as either a businessman or a vigilante.) Then he looked at the children. "Boys, would you like to come with me to check on Alfred?"

"Ggam'pa?"

He led the way to Alfred's personal suite above the kitchen. The old man was, thankfully, asleep in bed. Bruce rested a hand on his forehead and found it warm.

John cried out in horror and scrambled onto the bed.

" _John_ , don't!"

" _crow_! Gggamm'ppa, Gggamm-!" John started to cry as he resisted Bruce's attempts to pull him away and managed to get a hand free to shake Alfred's shoulder. Alfred moaned and miserably opened his eyes.

"John, he's trying to _sleep_!" Bruce hissed. The boy only fought harder, and Bruce had to let him go because there was real danger of Alfred getting hurt by being caught in the middle of the struggle.

"What...is...?" Alfred asked faintly.

"I'm so sorry, Alfred. I don't think John knew you were sick, he's very upset." John was now clinging to Alfred and weeping. His body shifted into a protective pose, and he turned his head a little to glare fiercely at Bruce.

"Ggam'pa ssi'ck?" Jack asked, and Peter worriedly held Alfred's hand with both of his.

"I will...be all right," Alfred whispered, then coughed.

Bruce hurried to the bathroom and then the kitchenette and went through the cabinets - he was rarely in Alfred's sanctuary and not familiar with where things were kept - until he'd hunted down some medicine, a mug of water, and a straw. He brought them to his butler's bedside and asked, "Do you want me to make you some tea?"

"You don't know...how to make tea," Alfred pointed out with a wheezy chuckle.

"I know how to boil water and pour it in a cup with a tea bag."

"Absolutely *cough* not, Master Bruce. If you will please...bring me that box of tissues, however..."

Bruce fussed over Alfred until the old man was as settled as possible. John, still shielding his grandfather with his body, watched Bruce like a hawk and hissed every time he came near. By the time Alfred had everything Bruce knew to get for him, John and Peter were curled close on either side of him, and Jack had started to read him a book. It was a grown-up novel he'd found on a table in the little library, so he was obviously making up the story as he turned pages at random intervals. "...dden Daddy ccome an' he ssay, 'Yyou bbad ssi'ck, ggo awayy!' Da ssi'ck go rrru'nn, Gam'pa ffee, ffeelll goo'd nnow..."

"Are they making you too hot?" Bruce asked.

Alfred hesitated. "If you would per..." He paused to draw breath. "Perhaps turn down the covers...a bit, that might be...a little more comfortable...yes, just leave the sheet, please."

Nothing Bruce tried could induce John to move away from Alfred, and Peter was nervously taking cues from his brother. Jack, though not alarmed like they were, didn't want to leave when his brothers wanted to stay. Bruce eventually fetched things for himself and Jack to work on, as Alfred rested and the older birds kept their vigil over him.

"John, you know I would never, ever hurt Alfred," Bruce said at one point.

 _"You kill him, I eat YOU not him."_

"John, no one in this house will ever eat human flesh, _ever_. No one in this house would ever hurt Alfred, _ever_. Alfred is safe here, and you are safe here."

John simply gazed back, obviously not believing him.

Jack worked on lessons until he got bored, by which time Peter, though loyally remaining by Alfred's side, was showing signs of boredom, too. Alfred had fallen back asleep, and John stubbornly continued to guard him.

"...John," Bruce finally said. "Your brothers and I are going to get some lunch. We will bring things for you and Alfred to eat later. John, if I let you stay with your grandfather, you must promise to let him rest, and do not wander around his home, do not touch his things, do not break anything. Do you understand? If you bother Alfred or make a mess or break anything that belongs to him, you will not be able to come here into his suite anymore. Do you understand?"

John glared and crowed softly. When he realized that his little brothers were leaving, he cried out. There was a conversation in birdsong that grew quieter when Bruce scolded them for being too loud. Peter said something reassuring, and Jack pouted. John, tears dripping from his eyes, finally laid his head beside Alfred's and went quiet.

 _"Why is J-o-h-n upset?"_ Bruce asked the younger boys, in sign language so as not to disturb Alfred. Although the children had only barely started learning the ASL alphabet, they could now recognize their fingerspelled names if they were signed slowly.

 _"Protect Grandpa."_

 _"Grandpa will be safe,"_ Bruce replied. _"We will leave him alone so he can sleep and feel better."_

 _"Protect Brother protect Grandpa."_

 _"Grandpa is already safe. He does not need to be protected."_

 _"Protect Brother protect Grandpa, no one eat Grandpa; bad!"_

Since the conversation was going nowhere and John was being quiet and still, Bruce gave up and led the way down to the kitchen.

His older children where there, leisurely chatting as they scrounged up a meal. Duke was teaching Cassandra something at the stove while Damian made a salad.

"Ccasssie!" Peter and Jack ran to hug her, passing by Titus, who was heading in the opposite direction in hopes that the newcomer would pay more attention to him. Bruce distractedly patted the dog's head.

"Oh, right, I see who the favorite is when Dick's not around," Duke half-teased.

"Ccassie iss _hherre_!" Jack exclaimed in delight, moving on to hug Duke. "Dd'uke iss hherre! Ddami is hherre! _Happy!"_

 _"You are not dead,"_ Peter told his sister, pleased. She cradled his face in her hands and kissed his forehead.

"Where is Pennyworth?" Damian demanded of his father.

"Alfred is ill today, so he's resting. We are going to have to look after ourselves for a day or two."

Damian stared at his father in horror, then abandoned the salad and rushed away to Alfred's suite. Bruce hurried after him, worried that he and John might start an altercation and disturb Alfred.

What he found was John looking undisturbed and Damian leaning over Alfred with a startlingly tender expression on his face.

"Mmm... Master Damian...?"

"You really are ill..."

"I'll be...all right, Master Damian... Was there *cough* pardon me. Was there something you needed?"

"No, of course not. What do _you_ need? Does your throat hurt? Shall I make you some tea?"

"Yes, that would be nice."

 _'Oh, right,'_ Bruce thought wryly, _'you'll let him make you tea.'_ Of course, unlike Bruce, Damian actually knew how to brew tea. _'Because Alfred taught him.'_

Damian kissed the old man's forehead. "Rest, Jiddo. I'll bring it-"

Bruce didn't hear the rest because he was busy ducking out of sight. Damian had most certainly not realized he was being watched by anyone other than John if he was using such a term of endearment for Alfred, and Bruce had no business intruding.

Bruce wandered back to the kitchen, where Cassandra and Duke had gotten the children engaged in helping them prepare the meal. It was nothing fancy, just cereal and some warmed-up leftovers, but they all looked happy.

"Boys." Peter and Jack stiffened and went alert at the tone they now recognized as 'I have something to tell you that I know you're not going to like.' "We're going to try something new with your lunch today."

"Nnooooooo!" Peter exclaimed in dismay, on general principle. Jack dramatically planted his face on the table. Duke stifled laughter and Cassandra stared curiously.

"You will not have to ask for your food, and we will not use utensils for lunch; we will use utensils for dinner," Bruce went on. He had gotten the idea from watching Damian filling his pets' puzzle feeders. The birds' manual dexterity had improved significantly, but they still needed some work to catch up to the level they ought to be for their age. It was becoming a higher priority than verbal practice, which they'd mastered by now in the context of requesting food. "For lunch, you have to exercise your hands."

He tried it two different ways to see which seemed to work better for them. Though the children did, understandably, express some frustration that they couldn't stick to the routine they were comfortable with or gobble whatever food they wanted at will, it soon became clear that Peter rather relished getting to rip the lids off of containers in order to get at the food inside (" _No_ teeth! Hands only, Peter. Yes, you can brace it against your chest if you want"), while Jack's eyes brightened with the challenge of delicately picking pieces of food out of contraptions with holes or partitions ("Do not shake it! Hands only, Jack. There; good job"). Though the boys complained loudly at first, they also ended the meal as energetic as if they'd been playing outside.

Then they went to actually play outside with their older siblings, after the family had worked together to clean up (only Duke really knew how to do it, and directed the others with exasperated amusement). Bruce stayed in the kitchen to load a bed tray with Damian's salad, a bowl of food for John, and soup for Alfred (he _was_ capable of warming up canned soup. Alfred would never have stooped to serving such a thing to the family, but he did keep some canned food on hand in case of emergencies).

Alfred was propped against a pile of pillows, looking tired but content between his grandsons. John lay next to him, quietly grooming his hair, as Damian sat in the chair beside the bed and read _Great Expectations_ aloud. His clear voice paused when Bruce came in.

"Lunch. Sorry it's late."

"Oh - I forgot," Damian realized, blushing as he accepted his salad.

"Master Bruce," Alfred murmured, "Master John has...not once left my side." He glanced meaningfully toward the restroom.

"All right. I'll take him in a minute."

Bruce fended off John's angry protests long enough to get Alfred settled with the soup, and couldn't keep all the frustration out of his voice when he ordered, "John, let's go to the bathroom."

John glared suspiciously as the man circled around the bed. Bruce snapped his fingers and pointed. "John, get up _now_."

He was a little surprised when the boy obeyed, and even more surprised when John took his hand. _'He doesn't want me near Alfred,'_ he realized when John towed him to the bathroom. The child pulled down his clothes, then shrieked when Bruce tried to step outside the bathroom to give him privacy. Bruce cautiously stepped in again. "Do you need help?"

"...Yysss."

"What do you need help with?"

John didn't answer, just kept glaring as he lowered himself onto the toilet. The sounds of his relief were the only thing to break the silence. They stared at each other, John intent, Bruce uncomfortable. John didn't seem to mind if the man looked away, but he crowed if Bruce so much as shifted toward the door.

After nearly ten minutes, it was clear that John was stalling. "John, I _know_ you're finished. Get up and wash your hands."

John took his time with that, too. When Bruce lost his patience and shut off the water and dried the boy's hands for him, John didn't let go - he clung to Bruce's hands, braced his feet against the floor, and pulled hard in an attempt to keep him in the bathroom.

"John, I am _not_ going to hurt Alfred. I _will not_ hurt Alfred, do you understand me?"

He forced John out of the bathroom; the boy shrieked in furious panic and pushed back. Bruce cautiously let himself be herded around the perimeter of the main living area until John had gotten him to the door.

Bruce looked up at the others. Damian was watching incredulously, Alfred sadly. "Alfred, your phone's right there on the table. Let me know the minute you need anything."

"I'm all right for now."

John pushed Bruce, slammed the door to Alfred's suite, and pressed his back against it, staring.

"John, you are making me angry. I would _never_ hurt Alfred, and the fact that you think I would makes me angry."

 _"...You eat Grandpa, I kill you. Throat, tear, YUM-YUM."_ John's eyes were burning with fury as he Joker-smiled.

"You couldn't kill me if you tried," Bruce couldn't help storming, then took a deep breath to regain his composure. "Your brothers and sister are outside. Let's go join them."

 _TBC_

 **A/N: "Jiddo," according to the web pages I read, means "Grandpa." Apparently there are a million Arabic words for "Grandpa" depending on the dialect and context, so I might have used the wrong one, but you get the point.**

There are several canon references to Bat-Cow producing milk, but they are not accurate. She was rescued from a slaughterhouse, which means that even if she had previously been a milk cow, she would have become too old to reproduce and therefore been dry during the entire time Damian has known her.


	38. Chapter 18, Part 7

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 18.7 (rough draft 2)**

John was willing to accompany Bruce anywhere far away from Alfred. Outside, Cassandra and Duke were teaching the little ones more graceful fighting moves that were slowed down enough to not look like fighting moves, until John came dashing up to throw himself into his sister's arms and burst into tears.

 _"Grandpa sick?"_ Jack signed to Bruce across the yard.

 _"I gave him lunch. He will feel better soon,"_ Bruce signed back. As he went over to join them, Cassandra took John aside.

"Soooo, Bruce," Duke said.

Bruce peered at him, feeling uneasily like he should already know why Duke looked so expectant and nervous and excited. "Yes?"

"Is this...a good time...?"

"For...?"

"You know. The Watchtower? You said you'd show me how to use the Zeta-Tube today."

"Hrn. I did, didn't I..."

Duke frowned. "You promised."

"I'll show you." Bruce glanced over at the others. "Let's wait until Cassandra has calmed him down, though."

Across the yard, Cassandra had been attempting to speak to her little brother, as she'd promised. _"Precious, you are afraid, angry, so tense."_

 _"That man, I hate him, HATE HIM, hate him so much ugly things spill out of my heart suffocate me..."_

 _"Bruce-him hurt you?"_

 _"Cut me to the heart, kill me. I'm dead. I walk, look, move, crow, but I am dead."_

 _"I think no. You say Bruce-him hurt you, I say another hurt you."_

 _"HIM. HIM."_

 _"The one who hurt you, he Smiled and Laughed. Bruce-him does not Smile or Laugh. He does nice human smiling and laughing only."_

 _"He PRETENDS!"_ John raged. _"Him sweet gentle, then HURT ME! Again again again again again again again...!"_

She had to hold him for a long time, until the sobs faded. _"Different him. Precious, I love you. Two of them, evil him and kind him. This Bruce is kind. Evil one is gone."_

"NNNNOOOOO!" John screamed aloud. "NNNNOOOO! _He trick you, STUPID YOU he tell you sweet gentle, you BELIEVE HIM, stupid you! Stupid [warble]-him stupid [caw]-him stupid Duke-him stupid you, everyone hates me, everyone Laughs, everyone tie me down cut open my heart...!"_

Cassandra was weeping now. Such depth of pain... Though she had felt it in herself, she did not know how to heal it in another. He had been wounded differently than she had, the world in his eyes was so different than it was in hers, there was so little she could do for him except love him and protect him until the day he dared to trust again. Until the day she died, if necessary. _"I love you, precious, my heart hurts for you...!"_

 _"Comfort me."_

She held him again.

 _"...I am tired. My soul is tired."_

 _"Inside you, there is a flame, there is life. In this place, there is room for it to burn. The little ones, they depend on you, look up to you. If your flame goes out, theirs goes out. Keep your flame alive."_

He drew in breath. He straightened and trotted over to his master and hugged him. _"I love you,"_ he cooed in bird language, with the little undertone that meant _"smug/pretending,"_ even more smug because, for all the power Master had, he didn't know birdspeak. That was secret, only for [ _chirp-chirp_ ] and [ _caw_ ] and [ _warble_ ], and [ _trill_ ] before Master had killed her. Bird language was one of the only ways they were still free.

"~~ you feeling better ~~ Johnny?" Master asked cautiously.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] smiled a boy-smile up at him instead of a Smile. _"Relieved"_ Master said with his body, and patted him, and relaxed a little.

When Cassandra started teaching the children how to dance for art rather than raw emotion, Bruce and Duke retreated to the cave. Bruce contemplated the Batsuit and slowly tried it on again. Though it seemed heavier than it had been before the apocalypse, he didn't feel sick or suffocated in it anymore.

Duke was already waiting by the Zeta-Tube, dressed in the uniform he'd decided to call the Signal and making an effort to appear calm. "Are you ready?" Bruce asked.

"I've been ready since I got out of bed this morning."

"All right. I need to recalibrate your handprint permissions, and then I'll tell you the numeric code."

"Recalibrate?"

"Your handprint is already in its memory bank, I just need to re-assign it from emergency access to standard access."

"Guess I shouldn't ask how you already have my handprint on file..."

Eventually, they were ready to go. The journey itself was just as short and uneventful as usual. They stepped out onto the Watchtower's main floor, and Batman glanced over to enjoy the awe and appreciation in Signal's body language as he looked around.

"Batman," Cyborg greeted from a workstation. Then he smiled widely. "And Duke! You made it!"

"Call him the Signal." Bruce surprised himself with the sound of Batman's growl coming out of his own mouth. While he wore the cowl, it was automatic.

"The Signal, huh?"

"Yeah," the teen explained, "it's...something my mom said, a while ago. I thought..."

"I think it's a great superhero name. Come on over, let me show you what I'm working on."

Batman hung back and watched for a while, then prowled around to check on various programs, then watched some more, until he realized he was literally lurking in the shadows. _'No wonder they always make fun of me.'_ He tried to adjust his stance to be less stalker-y as he approached. "Think you'll be all right up here, Signal?"

"No, Batman. I've had enough and want to go home right away," the teen deadpanned.

Batman looked at Cyborg. "If anything-"

"I'll call you," Cyborg promised immediately. "First hint of aliens, supervillains, apocalypse #278, whatever; if anything happens, I'll call you. It's been pretty quiet, though. Don't worry about your kid, Batdad."

"Don't call me that." Dick, Jason, and Stephanie liked to tease him with that. He secretly rather liked it, but it was embarrassing coming from a colleague rather than one of his children.

"I might be late tonight," Signal said absently, his eyes following the readout on one of the computer screens.

"Check in every two hours, or I will come after you."

"*sigh* I will."

Batman did another round of the satellite, checking on more systems, then ran out of ways to procrastinate and reluctantly took his leave. Duke was happy. Duke would be safe. Duke would check in regularly, or Bruce would come to check on him in person. Everything was fine.

He still wasn't able to step into the Zeta-Tube until the sound of Signal's laughter at something Cyborg said made him relax.

Back at home, Bruce had just enough time to check on Alfred again before Leslie Thompkins arrived. She had been working herself to the bone ever since the apocalypse, caring for Gotham's neediest, and she _looked_ it. This was the first time she'd agreed to travel all the way out to the manor, and since the free clinics would be among the last bits of the city to recover, Bruce was pretty sure Leslie had only agreed out of a subconscious acknowledgement that she needed a break.

"Did you drive here?" he asked in concern when he opened the door to her. Her hair and clothes were a mess, she smelled like she hadn't bathed properly in several days, her eyes were bloodshot and slightly unfocused, and she was swaying a little where she stood.

"Had someone drop me off," she said faintly.

"My God, Leslie, come in, eat something - the boys can wait, you can look at them later."

She waved her hand. "I can't leave the clinic for long. Just give me a cup of coffee and a place to set up. I'll eat before I go."

She might subconsciously know she needed to rest, but apparently hell needed to freeze over before she'd admit it.

Bruce brought her coffee and led her to one of the guest rooms, telling her it would probably be better for her to conceal her instruments. Then he brought in John.

The boy was wary from the start. "This is Dr. Thompkins, John. She needs to look you over and give you some tests. I promise you will not be hurt." John, though unhappy, submitted without much resistance at first when Leslie checked things like his eyes and the sound of his breathing, and accepted a small treat for sitting still. He tensed when Bruce started to undress him. He stared anxiously from one adult to the other as Bruce explained what was happening and laid re-arrangeable sheets and towels over John's body to give the boy as much privacy as possible. "She is going to have to look at every part of you, but it won't take long. No one will hurt you, John."

Despite Leslie's soothing voice and gentle touch, John trembled and whimpered as she examined him, and fiercely turned his head away when Bruce offered him another treat. He did, however, hug Elephant tightly when Bruce put the toy in his arms. He started to cry in earnest when Leslie gently tried to turn him and he couldn't watch what she was doing to him anymore.

"John, she is not going to hurt you. I promise you are safe, John. It will be over soon, you're being very good..."

It didn't take long in actuality, but it felt like ages before Leslie said "Done," and made one last note on her clipboard. John held Elephant and sniffled and did not acknowledge either of the adults as they struggled to get him dressed again.

"You're finished, John. You did very well. No one hurt you, and you are safe. I'm going to take you back to Cassandra, and you can have something to eat or drink, if you like."

When Bruce came back, he brought Peter with him. The boy was twitchy and wary, and looked mistrustfully at Leslie when she greeted him with a tired smile. "Hello, love. I'm Dr. Thompkins."

Peter was not nearly as cooperative as John had been, but he _was_ more accepting of treats. Bruce bribed him with one grape after another to hold still long enough for Leslie to get through the exam. The limits of his tolerance were finally broken near the end, and he screamed in fear and fury when Bruce held him down, but he did accept a banana afterward.

"It's over, Peter. Finished."

"Nnnoo mmore," he said tearfully, barely understandable since he was still chewing.

"The doctor is finished. Let's get you dressed, and then you can go play."

At first, Jack was by far the most at ease, babbling cheerfully to Leslie as she examined the top half of him and his legs and feet. His expression changed and he balked when he realized that he was expected to get completely undressed in her presence. "No! No! Mmy, mmy sssee'kket mme!"

Bruce thought a moment. "Jack. Right now, this person is not a woman. This person is a doctor, and doctors are not men or women while they're working, they're just humans doing their job. Doctors have to look at people's bodies to make sure they don't get sick. When Dr. Thompkins is finished examining you, then you can put your clothes back on and she'll be just Leslie again. But right now, this person is a doctor, and it's okay to show a doctor the secret parts of your body when they're only trying to see how healthy you are."

Jack started to cry, holding tight to Bruce's hand as he submitted. "Ii d-ddohht lllike ii't, I ddoht...ddoht wwa't...!" When the exam was finished, he cried even harder when he was dressed again, and crawled into his father's arms to be comforted.

"You're safe...it's over now...you're all right, no one hurt you," Bruce murmured, rocking him. He looked at Leslie. "Were there...any signs of sexual abuse? On any of them?" After everything his alternate self had done to the children, after all the things he himself had had to do that upset or frightened them, it had never felt right to check for such a thing himself. Even now that Leslie was finally here, he was almost afraid to know for sure.

"Nothing that would have left permanent marks," she murmured quietly.

He exhaled and closed his eyes, resting his cheek against Jack's hair.

"Everything pretty much matches your own reports," she went on. "I signed them just now, but let me check them over again before you submit them. I'm so... _tired_ , I just..."

"You can wait in here, let me get you some more coffee before you go," Bruce said. He carried Jack away to be reunited with his siblings, then took his time in the kitchen. When he came back, he found, to his satisfaction, that Leslie had indeed fallen asleep in the guest room, as he'd hoped. He hadn't even bothered to glance at the coffee maker; he had brought a bottle of water and a couple of granola bars instead, which he now set down on the bedside table. Then he laid a blanket over Leslie, turned out the light, and quietly shut the door before he left.

TBC

A/N: Although dark-Carrie was not actually killed by BWL, John is convinced that it's BWL's fault whenever anyone dies. (Because, 99% of the time, it is; he just assumes the 1% is BWL's work, too.)


	39. Chapter 18, Part 8

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 18.8 (rough draft 2)**

When Bruce went to check on Alfred again, he found that John had curled up with his grandfather and refused to be dislodged. The rest of the afternoon passed quietly, and Bruce took the opportunity to work with the younger children on lessons for an hour before dinner.

An hour before the usual dinnertime, that is. He was startled when Tim came striding into the room and slapped a thick file folder on the desk in front of him. "Sign those. All of them. Read them or don't, but every single one NEEDS to have your signature on it before I leave for work tomorrow." Tim absently but affectionately rested his arms around Jack and Peter, whose eyes were lit up with pleasure as they tugged at him. "Also, since I'm the one who's been breadwinning all day, make me dinner."

Considering how many times Bruce had seen Alfred sick in bed by now, it was unbelievable how often he kept forgetting that there were things he needed to remember to _do_ when that there wasn't a butler to do them. "I'm not...the best chef..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know all the 'Bruce nearly burned down the kitchen' stories," Tim said dismissively. "You can still help." He clapped his hands smartly. "Birds! Come learn how to give massages to very tired people!" The children eagerly scampered after him.

In the living room, Tim did some demonstrations, then lay facedown on the carpet. Jack and Peter, uncertainly at first, started pushing on his back. His relieved groans alarmed them at first, but when he managed to reassure them that he liked it and wasn't hurt, they made a game out of which one could force the most interesting noises out of Timmy with their hands. It had to be hands, because, "OW! No no no, don't stand on me, you fat babies are too heavy for that. Hands only." Peter was the one who first thought of sitting on him. " _Oof_. Oh, that feels good. Okay, hands and butts only. _Uurrggkhh_ , yes, perfect."

Meanwhile, making dinner was another round of muddling through food preparation, now without Duke's comparative expertise to guide them. Damian, complaining about there not being any options for a hot vegetarian meal, put together another salad. Bruce was not allowed to touch the stove, but that only left Cassandra to do the food heating. She pulled random leftovers out of the refrigerator and set them on the counter, stared at them for a minute, then shrugged and started prying lids off, dropping everything together in a pot to warm up.

"Cassandra, I don't think...gravy and spaghetti go together..."

When dinner was ready, Bruce scooped the most edible parts of it into a bowl to take to Alfred. Then he dragged a screaming, struggling John away from the butler's bed and was relieved when John calmed down on the way to the dining room.

Dinner was fairly quiet. Tim and Damian's usual exchange of insults was relaxed and almost amiable, the children were getting slightly better at maneuvering their utensils, and Bruce and Cassandra were just happy to be surrounded by family, even if it was incomplete.

When Bruce checked on his butler again afterward, he found that Alfred hadn't been able to keep down most of his meal (Bruce guiltily hoped that was just because of the illness and not because he and his children were such horrendous cooks). Since he was busy cleaning up and caring for Alfred, Tim volunteered to help the children get ready for bed. Bruce was just setting down a clean bucket in case Alfred needed to throw up again, when Jack came dashing into the room, followed by the other birds.

"DADDY! DADDY! DADDY!"

" _Sssshh_ , Jack! You're bothering Alfred!"

Alfred murmured something too faint to hear.

Tim poked his head in. "Sorry, they ran off before I could-"

"Daddy!" Jack stage-whispered. "LllllOOK!" He ran to Alfred's bathroom and shut himself inside it. There was a pause. Then the doorknob started rattling, and after a long moment, the door burst open and Jack leaped out of it. " _crow_ ~~~!" he exclaimed, looking immensely proud of himself.

Bruce stared in confusion. "That's...very good, Ja-"

He came to the realization at the same time Tim said, "I don't think they knew how to open doors before."

Come to think of it, Bruce couldn't recall a single instance of John, Peter, or Jack operating a doorknob or handle before this moment - they had either passed through already-opened doors or waited for an adult to open the door for them.

Bruce looked at John and Peter. Both of them were staring at their little brother with dumbfounded expressions. Bruce looked at Tim. He could tell that the same _'Oh, crap'_ thought that was passing through his own mind was now passing through Tim's. If ignorance had been the only thing preventing the children from leaving the bedroom while Bruce slept, or going outdoors without supervision...

"Daddy?" Jack was starting to look anxious and unsure.

Bruce couldn't discourage him from opening doors. It was an extremely basic life skill, and he didn't want the birds to think they had to hide their newfound ability. "Good job, Jack," he praised. "That's very good."

Jack beamed again. Peter burst into amazed birdsong, and John shifted in agitation.

"Boys, we are disturbing Alfred. Tim, could you look after them until I finish up in here?"

"Yeah, but I have to start getting ready for patrol soon. Speaking of which, are you doing tech support tonight? Duke just got back a minute ago, but I don't know if he's ready yet for an entire night on his own."

It was a difficult evening. Bruce, in addition to worrying about Alfred, could not get the children to sleep. No matter how much he read or sang to them, they remained keyed up and talkative, and the younger two would not even stay in bed. "Fine. Maybe you'll be able to work off some energy in the cave."

Keeping one eye and ear on Alfred's Robin Monitor and on Duke working at the Batcomputer, Bruce put the children through an obstacle course, upping the difficulty level after each success. John worked at it quietly but doggedly, showing no sign of tiring. Peter and Jack only seemed to get more energetic rather than less.

" _crow_! Ii wwwinn!"

"HA HA HA Daddy, ffinish ffinish ffinish~!"

Bruce considered drugging them, but decided that would make him a bad parent and saved the idea as a last resort. "Boys, come over here, let me show you how to brush the cow."

It was nearly midnight by the time the kids started getting drowsy. That was also about when Duke, who'd just gotten a call from Leslie's clinic about her longer-than-expected absence and had to assure them that she wasn't hurt or kidnapped, started getting very busy on the computer. "I'll be down again as soon as I can," Bruce promised. He herded the sleepy children upstairs and got them settled on their mattress in his room. He trained a Robin Monitor on them and, when he was sure they were asleep except for John, who'd taken first watch, he went back downstairs.

"Oh, geez, I'm so glad you're here," Duke said. "My hacking still sucks, and they need access to the security cameras in one of those fancy offices that just got rebuilt."

At 2:00 a.m., Bruce dragged himself away from the computer, guiltily realizing that it had been way too long since he'd checked the Robin Monitors. Alfred seemed to be sleeping all right, but the children's bed was empty. Bruce swore explosively and leaped up, barely remembering to bark out an explanation to Duke before he raced back up to the house.

The birds were, thankfully, still in the master suite, but all three were wide awake, practicing with the bathroom door. When Bruce came in, Jack was twittering bossily as John struggled to turn the knob.

"Boys."

They all froze and stared at him.

"You need to be _sleeping_. You can practice with doors tomorrow, but right now, it is nighttime and you need to sleep."

John hurried to the bed and lay down and shut his eyes, his whole body tense. The younger ones completely ignored instructions.

"Bboose! Ii ggoo-duh!" Peter shut the bathroom door, then struggled with the knob until he managed to turn it far enough that the door swung open again. " _crow_ ~!"

"Yes, good job, Peter. Now go lie down and I'll read you another book, but _only_ if you go to sleep afterward." He had to fetch some fresh books from the children's room. When he came back, he was horrified to find that they'd gone raiding his bookshelves. Right before his eyes, Peter's little hands accidentally creased a page as he showed something to his brothers.

"Boys, _no_!" Bruce rushed to rescue the books. There was some shrieking protest before he hurriedly pushed the books he had brought toward the boys. " _These_ are your books, these are the ones you can read as much as you want." He carefully gathered up the older copies. "These are your Grandmother and Grandfather Wayne's books. I am going to put them away so they'll be safe, and we will read your books instead."

He was halfway through Dr. Seuss's _One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish_ when he heard Duke say frantically in the commline, _"Bruce! A little help...?!"_

Bruce mentally swore again. "Boys, we have to finish this later. We are going back to the cave."

At four in the morning, John and Peter were sprawled together in a practice mat nest as Jack sat beside them, crying because he was exhausted but refused to lie down. Things had settled down in the city, but now Alfred was moaning on the Robin Monitor.

"Duke, see if you can get Jack to sleep," Bruce said in exasperation. "I have to tend to Alfred."

At five in the morning, Bruce came trudging into his room. He laid the unconscious Jack on his own bed and then flopped down beside him, falling asleep instantly. Cassandra, who had carried Peter to the Robins' nest after patrol, curled up next to him to sleep. Tim settled John down with them and then stood there for a while, swaying a bit, seriously considering going to sleep in Bruce's room as well.

Eventually, he managed to turn and shuffle out, but couldn't make it all the way to his room. He ended up detouring into Dick's room, which was closer to the master suite, and collapsing on the bed. Damian was so tired that he didn't remember going to bed after he'd let Titus out to pee. Leslie was still fast asleep in the guest room, so exhausted that she'd barely stirred in fourteen hours.

The sun rose on a very quiet mansion that morning.

TBC


	40. Chapter 19, Part 1

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 19.1 (rough draft 2)**

Bruce started awake to find John crouched over him, gazing at him intently. "John?!"

 _"Seatbelts?"_ the boy demanded.

Bruce groaned and tried to push him away so he could roll over. The rays of sun stabbing through the slits around the curtains were midmorning-bright, but it felt like Bruce had only closed his eyes a minute ago. "Not right now. Later."

John suddenly flopped into a boneless heap. Bruce looked at him. "John?"

The boy curled his arms over his head and hummed in distress.

"Johnny," Bruce sighed, reaching out to comfort him but then hesitating. He didn't deserve to touch a child he was later going to drag into a situation he hated so much. "It doesn't hurt. I _promise_ it doesn't hurt, you _know_ it doesn't hurt. Five seconds, and it will be over and you can have ice cream and play the rest of the day."

"..."

Well, _now_ he couldn't go back to sleep. Instead, he went to fetch John's stuffed elephant and tucked it into the boy's arms. John hugged it lethargically without looking at it. Then Bruce went to check on Alfred, who still had a low fever and looked miserable as he listened to an audiobook. "Any better today?"

"Does it matter? Not better enough," Alfred grumbled, in an understandable but uncharacteristic foul mood. Bruce got him some fresh water and some toast, which was all Alfred said he could stomach.

Then Bruce fed the animals and went back to his room, where he found that John had not moved an inch. "Are you all right, John?" The boy continued to gaze into the distance and didn't answer. _'Dick would rather be comforted than not. John probably does, too.'_ Bruce gently ran his fingers through the boy's hair, which now had noticeable black roots. It had also gotten so long that Bruce, knowing better than to even suggest haircuts yet, had started tying it back every morning. John never complained about the simple ponytails, but liked to ask other family members to redo his hair into a braid. Peter, with his bright ginger roots, never cared what his hair looked like, but Jack usually refused hair bands and insisted on clips instead, which he then re-arranged throughout the day until his hair had been sculpted into bizarre shapes by bath time.

"I'm going to go take a shower now, John. I'll be back soon." By the time Bruce stepped out of the shower, he found the other children awake, Peter practicing with the bathroom door as Jack wrote his name in shaky letters with his finger on the mirror condensation. "Good job."

"Ggood jobb, Ja'ck," Jack repeated, pleased. "Ggood mmorrrni', Daddy."

"Good morning, Jack. Good morning, Peter."

When Bruce came out of the bathroom with the younger children trotting at his heels, John was _still_ lying in the same position on the bed. "Johnny...let's go get dressed and eat some breakfast."

There was no response. The child was limp as a rag doll when Bruce picked him up, carried him to his room, and set him down on the bed. He didn't lift a finger to help with his clothes. "John, get changed, or you're going to be walking around in your pajamas all day." Too late, he realized that was a rather dumb thing to say. The children didn't care about being properly dressed at the best of times, and in the mood John was currently in, he'd probably rather stay in pajamas if that meant spiting his tormentor.

Bruce sighed and decided to wait until after seatbelts to get the boy dressed for the day.

John had to be carried to the kitchen, too, where the top half of his body sprawled in a boneless pool across the tabletop. The room smelled unexpectedly delicious. Leslie, freshly showered and dressed in clothes she'd found in the guest room closet, was cooking.

"Er- Good morning, Leslie. Thank you."

"I checked on Alfred earlier," she said. "It doesn't look too serious, but call me if he still has a fever tomorrow."

"Thank you," Bruce said again. "You don't...have to cook for us..."

"And with Alfred down, what would you be feeding these children of yours otherwise?"

"...Leftovers."

"Hmm. Considering they'd be Alfred-made leftovers, that's not too bad, but I was already making breakfast for myself. Not difficult to crack a few extra eggs into the pan."

Peter and Jack were watching her from a safe distance, their eyes wide with both curiosity and wariness.

"Boys, say good morning to Dr. Thompkins."

 _"...She touch us?"_ Peter asked.

"No. Her job is finished, so now she is just a guest."

Jack edged behind Bruce and instructed Leslie from his safe position, "Yyou be nnicce."

"Of course." She set a plate down in front of a chair. "Come eat, honey."

Her food was plainer than Alfred's, but it was healthy and tasted good. Leslie was curious about the feeding system and watched with a fond little smile as the younger children expertly spoke and signed for what they wanted. "Good way to motivate them."

"It was the _only_ way at first. John and Jack don't care about food as much as they used to, but it still works pretty well with Peter."

"Speaking of not caring about food," Leslie sighed, trying to get John to sit up and eat.

"Just leave him, he's upset," Bruce said. "He usually has a better appetite later in the day. I'll make sure he eats."

"This is fine for the time being, but you _are_ going to get them proper therapists and teachers once their documentation is sorted out, right?"

"Yes, of course."

The children were still eating when Leslie finished her meal, rinsed off her plate in the sink, then called the clinic to tell them she was on her way back. She groaned when she hung up. "Ugh, you terrible, sneaky man... They are _swamped_ without me. They were swamped even before I left."

"You can't help people when you yourself are severely sleep deprived, Leslie."

"Hmph. Pot calling the kettle black." She shook her head, and then her face softened. "I admit, the sleep and the shower and the _quiet_ were...very nice."

"You can borrow a car for the trip back, if you want. I have some that won't warrant a second glance in that part of town."

After Leslie left, Bruce kept an eye on the kids until Peter and Jack had eaten a decent amount but weren't yet restless. He stood up.

"No!" Peter cried in dismay, leaping back. Bruce managed to catch him and tuck him under one arm. He hoisted up John's limp deadweight with the other, and got the protesting Jack moving in the right direction by threatening to withhold ice cream.

In the car, John lay where he'd been placed, as unmoving as roadkill; Jack kicked and complained; Peter flailed and loudly made his displeasure known. _"Bad Laugh Man tie you! Why you tie us?!"_

"There is good tying and bad tying. The man who hurt you did bad tying, but we have to practice good tying so we'll be safe when we drive. Do you want to have your turn first, or do you want me to take my turn first?"

 _"YOU! You tie!"_

"All right." Bruce buckled a seatbelt over himself. Peter made an angrily triumphant noise; Jack stared, wide-eyed. John looked unimpressed. "Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen..." After he'd counted down to one, Bruce unbuckled himself. "Whose turn is it next?"

"NO!" Peter shouted, and Jack shook his head insistently.

"If you don't want to choose, then I will choose." He reached for Peter's seatbelt. The boy fought him, hissed when Bruce counted down from five, then curled up in a corner afterward with his back to Bruce in his cat-like, 'I am punishing you by withholding my attention' display.

"Jack. Your turn."

"N-No! [ _chirp-chirp_ ]!"

"He'll have his turn in a minute. Right now, it's yours."

"Nno, bbu't, bu't, do nnot ttie goo'd boys, dis we nnow, nnow we hhha, we do ai ceam..." After a while, it became clear that he was stalling rather than actually saying anything.

"It's time to wear your seatbelt."

"I DOHT WWAH'T TO!" Jack shouted as the buckle was fastened around him.

"Ten, nine, eight-" He stopped counting when Jack started working at the lock mechanism. "Don't undo it, Jack. Leave it fastened until I finish counting."

 _Click_.

Jack grinned cheekily at Bruce. Bruce buckled him in again. Jack reached for the lock. Bruce held the boy's hands still long enough to warn, "Jack, if you unbuckle yourself before I finish counting, you will not get ice cream." He released the boy's hands.

Jack eyed him.

"Ten, nine-"

 _Click_.

"Jack, you lost your ice cream."

 _"Bad Daddy."_

"Hn." Bruce sighed and turned to the last child. "John."

 _"Kill you."_

"Five seconds."

 _"Hate you."_

John came out of his lethargy long enough to fight; then, when the seatbelt was moved back away from him, he collapsed again.

"It's over for today, John. You'll get ice cream in a minute."

The boy didn't bother responding.

When they all got out of the car, Peter and Jack immediately ran to where the cooler usually sat, then stopped and looked around in confusion.

Bruce, holding John, could have kicked himself for forgetting YET AGAIN that he _did not have a butler_ at the moment. "The ice cream is in the kitchen. We have to go to the kitchen first."

"AI CCEAM!" Peter bellowed.

Once there, Bruce had to set a suddenly clingy John onto the floor so he could open the freezer and get the box of ice cream sandwiches. "Peter finished his seatbelt practice. Peter gets ice cream." Peter joyfully snatched his reward and crammed the whole thing into his mouth. Bruce held another dessert sandwich down to John. The boy didn't react for a moment, but then unwrapped an arm from Bruce's leg to take the treat. Then he just held it, making no move to take a bite. "John finished his seatbelt practice. John gets ice cream." Bruce looked at the impatiently hopping third child. "Jack did not finish his seatbelt practice. Jack does not get ice cream."

" _crow_! _GIVE ME!"_

"No. You did not earn it this time."

"I WUH, WAN'T AI CEAM!"

"No."

" _CROOOOW_!"

John held out his ice cream sandwich, but Bruce caught it up before Jack could reach it. "No. It's good to share, John, but not when your brother did not earn the reward."

Jack threw a tantrum. John bit Bruce. The ice cream got accidentally dropped, and was instantly devoured by Peter. Bruce wanted very much to go back to bed.

He eventually got the boys settled down again. He'd set a sheet of poster board on the floor in front of Jack, who was now making angry scribbles on it with a crayon. Peter, with his endless appetite, was happily finishing breakfast. John was finally eating as well, but only while Bruce sang. If Bruce stopped singing, John would just stare at him pointedly (letting whatever was in his mouth drop back onto the plate) until he resumed again.

 _"You sneaky, manipulati~ve little child~"_ Bruce sang passive-aggressively, since John seemed to care more about the melody than the words, _"Dick would be so proud~ of you~"_

Tim came staggering into the kitchen and flung the file folder on the table in front of Bruce, who guiltily remembered that he'd only had the chance to read and sign two of the documents so far.

"Ttimmy!" Jack exclaimed, hurrying over to his older self, "Daddy bbe mmean to me!"

"Daddy is mean to me, too," Tim said in a dead voice, now zombieing toward the coffee maker, which he started stabbing at.

"I'm not going to have time to go through _all_ of these before you have to leave-"

"Sign them now. Read the digital copies later." He pulled a nutrition shake out of the refrigerator.

"That's not how signing works, Tim."

Tim looked down at Jack, who was gazing up at him in righteous expectation. "Daddy's the worst, huh."

 _"He does not give me ice cream!"_

"He does not give me signatures."

 _"Angry at Daddy!"_

"Preach." He threw back his head to take a swig of the shake.

Bruce signed, trying to at least skim the documents first. He trusted Tim with...everything, really, but it still went against his instinct to sign things he hadn't read properly. "You could be a shapeshifter, tricking me into signing things I shouldn't."

Tim couldn't argue with that. "Uuuugggghhhh- Whatever; I'm already late for work." He sat down and laid his head on his folded arms and dozed until the coffee maker beeped. Bruce got up long enough to bring him a steaming mug. "Don't stop signing!" Tim pushed Bruce back in front of the documents, poured his coffee into a giant glass along with another nutrition shake, and sipped at the concoction, still looking only about 60% awake.

"...I can't believe you're drinking that."

"Energy. Nutrition. Taste buds dead. _Sign_." Jack offered Tim a crayon. After a moment, Tim took it, then dragged it across the poster board Jack held up for him. "This is our 'We are mad at Daddy' art, huh."

"Goo'd jobb, Timmy," Jack praised.

The instant Bruce lifted the pen from the final document, Tim grabbed all the papers and lurched toward the garage.

Bruce tidied up the kitchen as best he could and then went to fetch an outfit for John. (He purposely brought the most outrageous, peacock-flashy clothes he could find in the closet. He was rewarded when John gave a tiny smile at the sight of the bright colors.) While he was helping the boy dress, a notification popped up on his phone, so he made his way down to the Batcave with the birds trailing in his wake. "Barbara."

She glanced up from the lab table as casually as if she had only seen him yesterday rather than months ago. "Hi, Bruce. Just using your equipment real quick."

"It's been a while."

"I've been busy." She straightened up to get a better look at the birds. The younger two had clustered cautiously behind Bruce; John stood silently apart. "You've been, too."

"Yes."

She chuckled. "I heard that whoever comes within a hundred yards of this place gets roped into babysitting your new Robins."

"No. They're my responsibility."

She frowned briefly, but her expression smoothed out as she approached. "Hey, kiddos. I'm Barbara."

"Bbaba," Peter murmured.

She shook their hands and chatted with them a bit. Both children warmed up to her immediately when she brought up the subject of books. _"Baby birds and baby bat are family,"_ Peter told her.

"Someone's been reading you _Stellaluna_ , huh." Barbara ruffled the children's hair, and that brief frown crossed her face again when she stepped aside and lowered herself to John's height. "Hello, Boy Wonder," she murmured.

He gazed at her, his expression unchanged even when she gently brushed a knuckle along the upper edge of his mask scar. She straightened and set a hand on his shoulder. "Bruce, there's something wrong with him."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. _Obviously_ survivors of severe abuse would have problems.

"Bruce, Jason and Tim stopped clinging to you in order to greet me and tell me all about their favorite books. Meanwhile, Dick Grayson is over here by himself - in the room with four other people, and not a single word or touch or smile so far."

Bruce felt a tinge of alarm. He looked at John, who continued to gaze at nothing in particular. "...Depression?"

"Have they had any counseling?"

"Things have...been...hectic."

Barbara's expression turned harsh.

"Barbara, you _know_ how risky it is."

"Bruce Wayne-"

"I didn't say I _wasn't_ going to get them counseling, I just haven't had a _chance_ to start vetting therapists yet. Gotham is still a wreck, every day is challenging even just here in this house, you haven't seen-"

" _Look_ at him, Bruce."

Bruce's already overloaded mental To Do list started reshuffling itself. "...I'll make it a higher priority."

Barbara turned her attention back to John, cupping his face gently with her hands and laying a soft kiss on his forehead. "There are a lot of people who love you, Dickie Grayson."

John closed his eyes. Tears seeped from them and slid down his face.

TBC


	41. Chapter 19, Part 2

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Chapter 19.2 (rough draft 2)**

Bruce left Barbara to her work and took the children back upstairs. After checking the Robin Monitor and noting that Alfred was asleep, he asked the kids whether they wanted to play outside or inside. Both of the younger ones eagerly chose to go outdoors, and now that Barbara had pointed it out, it was painfully obvious how heavy John's heart was. He expressed no preferences and barely played with his brothers, making only half-hearted attempts to join them in response to their urging.

Even when Bruce kept his distance, watching from the terrace as the children played on the grass, John still seemed oppressed. Subtle indications in his body language suggested that, even when he wasn't looking at the man, he was still strongly aware of Bruce's presence.

"John," Bruce called, "your older siblings should be awake soon. Would you like me to leave when one of them is ready to come play with you?"

Even that drew no response from the boy.

Jack, impatient with how boring John was being, galloped over to Bruce and tugged on him. Neither tag nor hide-and-seek seemed like a good idea, but they had a good time playing a version of red light, green light, with Peter and Jack taking turns dictating when the other and Bruce were allowed to take steps. John just sat on the grass nearby, showing signs of life only when the cat came wandering over to sniff at him.

When they came inside to get water, they found that Damian and Duke were awake, scrounging for food in the kitchen. Bruce left the birds in their care ("Wash your hands before you touch the food, Todd!") and went to check on Alfred again. He heard small footsteps behind him - John hurrying to catch up.

No, not catch up; to get ahead of him and block the door. "John," Bruce groaned. He had to forcibly move the boy aside. John promptly dashed into the suite to climb onto Alfred's bed and shield him.

"Master John, I assure you...I'm _quite_ all right," Alfred sighed, but he did rest his arm around the child.

"Do you think you can tolerate some real food?" Bruce asked.

Alfred blanched. "Real food, perhaps."

"But not anything we'd produce when you're not here," Bruce finished. "Let me see if there are any leftovers from the last time you cooked."

He brought some chicken and crackers, and helped Alfred sit up to eat. John clung to his grandfather, gazing at Bruce. "...Alfred," Bruce said in a low voice. "Barbara thinks he's...not doing well. Worse than his brothers. I'm not so sure she's wrong."

Alfred laid his hand over the boy's. "Master John, are you truly so unhappy here?"

 _"...You eat Grandpa, I eat you,"_ John signed at Bruce.

"And then I tell him that would never happen and he's safe here," Bruce said, his voice reflecting none of the turmoil he felt, "and he refuses to believe me, and I wonder, Alfred, if maybe his soul just can't survive in this house. ...If I should...let another family love him. People who can make him feel safe, because I _can't_. I'll never be able to."

There was a long silence as Alfred managed another couple of bites. "The child's needs come first," he finally murmured, looking as pained at the idea of losing John as Bruce felt.

There was another long silence. "Who, though?" Bruce finally burst out in anguish. "Who, Alfred? Anyone I trust _can't_ take him in, not with the sort of lives we lead! I had to give up the cowl to keep them, I can't ask that of anyone else. And I can't...the thought of letting strangers have him, after all the things I've _seen_ in the foster system, Alfred..."

Alfred's arm tightened around the child, and he closed his eyes. "Oh, Master John..." John silently reached to touch the tears glimmering on his cheeks.

Several minutes passed while Bruce sat with his head in his hands and Alfred held his precious grandson and John gently brushed tear after tear away from his face. At last, Bruce stood. "If you're done, I'll put the rest in your refrigerator here. Should I take John, or leave him?"

"He seems to wish to stay," Alfred murmured.

"All right. Don't hesitate to call me." Bruce left, his heavy footsteps echoing the weight of his heart.

It was quiet, with only the soft sound of Bach on the music player to break the silence. "Gggamm'ppa," John whispered.

Alfred gently brushed a stray lock of hair out of the boy's face. "My dear child...no one in this house means you any harm. You are safe here. I hope with all my heart...you will someday understand that."

 _"...I dream you. Dream-you love me hug me weak. You-here love me hug me weak, also."_

Alfred's brow furrowed in confusion. After a moment, he laid a kiss on John's forehead and soon drifted off to sleep. John pressed his lips to the old man's temple and continued to keep watch.

After lunch, Bruce meant to start the children on lessons - Damian and Duke included; it had been far too long since he'd checked on how they were doing on their studies - but got distracted by the news on his phone. As Peter and Jack drew pictures and ignored Damian's critiques, Bruce scrolled and tapped intently, trying to track down where the "Billionaire Playboy Adopts Blind Cancer Patients" and "Wayne Disappearance Linked to Joker Children?" headlines had come from.

The original article by Kristine Graciano was fairly accurate, but the lack of public news since then and colorful speculation on celebrity gossip forums had given rise to outrageous rumors. He probably needed to update his social media and make a public appearance soon; it had not gone unnoticed that Bruce Wayne was neither partying nor philanthroping, or even showing up to work. _'I don't have time for this!'_ he thought in frustration. "Damian."

"Yes, Father?"

"Look for a couple of photos of the children to share online - they should look happy, but either avoid or edit out the mask scars. And draft some social media posts for me about how I've been too busy with them - too _happily_ busy with them - to be in the spotlight much. DO NOT post anything on my behalf, just send them to me privately." Damian hadn't hijacked his father's social media accounts in a while, but there was a time when it had been a big problem, and Bruce still didn't trust him with that sort of thing.

"Right away, Father," Damian said at once, relishing the chance to establish his reliability and make the Wayne name sound good. "Shall I update my own feeds as well?"

"If you want, but if there's any mention of me or the birds, let me look at it before you post it."

"Yes, Father."

Bruce turned to the other teenager. "Duke, show me all the academic assignments you've finished since the last time I checked in on you."

Duke blinked, disconcerted. "Uh...can I have...twenty minutes?"

Bruce leveled a stern look at him. "Twenty minutes."

"I've _been_ working, I just- Yeah, twenty minutes," Duke said, scrambling for his laptop.

Bruce looked at the birds, who cocked their heads curiously. "Time for lessons." Both of them crowed happily and galloped off toward their study room.

Before they reached it, they detoured to hug Cassandra, who'd just woken up and still had bedhead. She amiably returned their embraces, and looked up at Bruce. "John?"

"He's guarding Alfred from me. Can you talk to him after you've eaten?"

"John...upset?"

"John thinks I will hurt Alfred. No matter how often I tell him I would never hurt Alfred, he doesn't believe me."

Her expression grew pained. "Ah," she said sadly. "John say...alone. Not listen, I not tell." She made a movement that meant 'however.' "I protect." She shrugged. _"It's the only thing I can do."_

"Just do your best, Cassandra."

It started to rain soon after that, and the schoolroom felt rather cozy, especially when Damian came to get his father's approval for the social media posts and Duke to turn in his assignments. Bruce gave them both new schoolwork to do and checked over their older work, pausing frequently to instruct or praise the younger children. Cassandra eventually came in with John, and while the boy showed no interest in learning anything new, Cassandra asked him to teach her ASL signs, and at last, he regained a little of his old spirit.

 _"Flockmates,"_ he chirred, signing _"brothers."_ Cassandra dutifully mimicked the hand movements. "Family?" she asked Bruce.

"This is 'family.' He's actually signing 'brother.' "

 _"Brother. Family,"_ she practiced, struggling to connect the concepts to the hand motions and the sounds and the movements of the lips, tongue, and throat necessary to make those sounds. It was so hard to juggle them all... Her little birds were so amazing for finding it so easy.

 _"Love,"_ John signed. _"I love you."_

 _"Precious,"_ she said back, without any words at all. _"Safe."_

He smiled back wanly. _"I keep you safe."_

 _"No. I am big, you are little, it is I who protects you."_

 _"You don't notice danger behind you. I keep you safe."_

 _"...Everyone in this 'family,' we keep each other safe."_

 _"You see only nice. The chains are hiding; I know where they are, you do not."_

 _"...If you are always protecting protecting protecting, when will you rest?"_

He did not reply. _"Food,"_ he said instead, teaching her the next ASL sign.

Tim got home a little later than usual, and fell asleep on the living room floor while the birds were massaging him. Jack lay on the teen's back to take a nap, too, and Peter wandered away to find awake people to do interesting things with.

Dinner started out as an attempt at homemade pizza, though when the family discovered that there was no tomato sauce and only a handful of pepperoni, it ended up being more like a platter of bread slices piled with random bits of whatever had been scavenged from the refrigerator and pantry. Tim, Damian, Duke, Peter, and Jack watched an animated movie while they ate. Alfred, unfortunately, had taken a turn for the worse and was throwing up again, so Bruce forgot to eat in the chaos of tending to him. Cassandra had to referee John, who was terribly upset at seeing his grandfather in such distress.

 _"Safe, no danger, no hurt, safe, precious, safe-!"_

 _"DO NOT KILL GRANDPA!"_

By the time Alfred was resting easier, Bruce was more tired than hungry, and opted to take a short nap rather than eat. While he slept, Cassandra coaxed some food into John. Then they all made their way downstairs, where the others were getting ready for patrol.

"...ffee, ffourr, ffibbe, ssi'xx," Jack said, counting batarangs for Damian, who was valiantly suppressing his impatience.

"Ttimmyy," Peter said anxiously, _"bad people hurt you, bite them."_ He demonstrated with his arms. _"Protect head."_

"Thanks, Peter," Tim said kindly. "I will."

"Peter, Jack," Bruce called. "Time for bed. Let's go upstairs."

This time, he didn't bother to draw a bath. He got Peter into the shower without too much trouble when he allowed the boy to keep his underwear on, but John just stood there and stared at him challengingly. "...Fine, John. You don't have to bathe tonight, but you will have to take either a bath or a shower tomorrow. I'm sorry there is no one else available to supervise you, but there's nothing I can do about that."

The younger children suddenly burst into a disagreement. Bruce did his best to intervene, but it still ended with both boys crying, Jack because he'd bumped his head against the tiled wall of the shower, and Peter because he'd slipped and fallen hard on his butt. _'Why can't raising children be even_ _slightly_ _easier?'_ Bruce silently complained a few minutes later, trying to dry Peter with one hand as he held a comfort-seeking Jack in his other arm.

By the time he was able to look around for their brother, he found John lying naked in the dry tub, gazing at a rubber duck as if it held deep secrets. "Give me just a minute, John, I'll turn on the water in a minute..."

When the children were finally in bed, he forced himself through a few pages of _Peter Pan_ , but was pretty desperate for a break and couldn't handle a lengthy picture book. "No, _The Lorax_ is too long. We will read _Harold and the Purple Crayon_ instead."

At last, he was able to kiss Jack good night, briefly caress Peter's and then John's hair, and turn out all but the night light. Jack, on first watch, settled back with a book light, a notepad, and a crayon. His brothers lay curled around him. Bruce shut the door and carried a Robin Monitor down with him to the Batcave.

TBC


	42. Chapter 41

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 41 (rough draft)**

A/N: This is the last finished chapter I had in reserve (I've written at least 2,200 words after this, but am having trouble finding a place to put a chapter break). I might make another attempt at putting the fic on hiatus, because the behind-the-scenes mess is getting ridiculous. DX

Also, I think whenever the birds are present during patrol prep, Damian leaves the cave as Robin or something nondescript, stops the car once he's clear, and changes into his Batsuit.

In the Rebirth _Batgirl and the Birds of Prey_ series, Gus Yale is a huge Batgirl/Oracle fanboy who "borrowed" her second alias and then, when he was caught, was allowed to keep it and work as the new Oracle for the Birds of Prey. *looks him up on the wiki because I forgot his real name; sees huge spoiler* Wait, WHAT?! WHAT?! What the heck, DC! DX

o.o.o

"How are things?" Bruce asked.

"Not good," Duke answered, sounding worried. "Everyone's been busier than usual, and there was an Arkham breakout."

"Who?" Bruce asked sharply. Gotham's Rogues had been pretty quiet since the apocalypse, but it had only been a matter of time.

"No official reports yet, but Red Robin says it's Poison Ivy and Two-Face."

Bruce cursed silently. "Move over." For a while, he was focused on directing multiple operations, referencing, and giving Duke instructions, so the sound of an alarm sent an unpleasant jolt through him.

"What's that?" Duke asked sharply.

Bruce's eyes shot from the alert screen to the Robin Monitor, which showed an empty bed. "The birds just left the house," he groaned. Now that they could open doors, he had programmed their trackers to alert him if they ever left the main areas of the house unaccompanied by an older family member. He couldn't bring himself to lock them in his room when their trust in him was so fragile, but this was a _problem_. "Dammit! Duke, do your best, I'll be right back."

"Okay, okay, okay, okay," Duke muttered nervously, adjusting his headset. His eyes flickered wildly over the computer bank. "Guys," he said into the comm, "B had to leave for a minute, he'll be back soon-"

 _"Why is he LEAVING?!"_ Red Robin bellowed. _"Orphan and Batboy are up to their necks in trouble, I'M trying to find a bio-bomb, YOU still don't know how to-!"_

"Certain baby chicks are trying to fly the coop."

 _"...DAMMIT!"_

Upstairs, Bruce found the mud room door ajar. He hadn't realized that the birds could get through even locked doors now, but when the mansion wasn't on emergency lockdown (with Alfred out of commission and Bruce too preoccupied to do his routine evening checks, even the house's normal security system was still only in standby mode, dammit dammit _dammit_ ), the mechanism on the mud room door was simple. Now that he thought about it, it was similar to the one on the master bathroom door.

Bruce ignored the dark, silent garage on the right in favor of the door to the yard on the left, which was also open. Then he had to consult his tracker program. John was still in the house, but the other children were in the trees past the open yard, so Bruce had to thread his way toward them with one eye on his phone. "Jack!" he called.

"Daddy wwin!" a little voice exclaimed in good-natured disappointment, and there was an angry crow from Peter.

Bruce tried to calm himself as he hurried to reach them. Jack was pouting, and Peter looked like he hadn't quite decided not to dash away. "Boys," Bruce said as gently as he could, "I will not punish you, but this is wrong. You cannot leave the house by yourselves, do you understand? Especially at night when you're supposed to be sleeping."

"Daddy, I wwann't go ou't!" Jack protested.

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow, we can play outside, but right now, Cassandra and Tim and Damian are in a lot of trouble, and I can't help them if I'm trying to make you behave."

"Ccassie?! Ttimmy?!" they chorused in alarm.

"Your siblings are in danger. I need to help them, but I have to get you into the house first. Do you understand? You being outside right now is putting Cassandra and Tim and Damian in danger."

"Ohh nno! Bbad, bad bboys!"

"It's all right, let's go get your brother."

John's tracker was in Alfred's suite, which made Bruce silently groan at the prospect of trying to pry the unwilling boy away. To his horror, it was even worse than he thought - Alfred was on the floor halfway between the bed and the door, in such discomfort that he was whimpering, one hand clutched to his head as he tried to keep himself from collapsing with the other. John was crying a little as he pulled hard at his grandfather, apparently trying to get him to keep moving.

"Get away from him!"

John burst into full-blown tears and ran out of the room. Bruce carefully got Alfred back into bed, worried at the heat he could feel from the old man's body even through his clothes. "Alfred, I'm going to get you some more medicine. Will you be able to drink if I bring you water?" Alfred didn't answer, seeming nearly unconscious now that he was lying down again. In an agony of worry for his father and the vanished birds in addition to his Bats, Bruce managed to take Alfred's temperature, which was higher than before, and get some water and a fever reducer into him. He left crackers and a small plateful of vegetables, more water and ice chips, a bucket, and a damp washcloth beside the bed, then rushed to find the children.

They were outside again, this time tangled in a physical fight in the yard. With their sharp teeth and fingers that were still used to acting like claws, he got cut up a bit himself when he pried John out of the midst of it. The boy went hopelessly limp in his arms, weeping against his shoulder, and the younger two stopped fighting at once. "Ttimmy Ccassie Ddami!" Jack insisted to Bruce.

"Yes, we need to _go_."

As soon as they got to the cave, Bruce rushed to the Batcomputer and set down John. The fact that Duke was standing up with his face close to one of the screens and one hand pressed hard against his comm did not look like a good sign. "Sitrep," Bruce demanded.

"I can't get hold of Orphan or Batkid, and Ivy ambushed Red."

"What?!"

"I think she strung him up in vines and took off again, but he stopped being coherent after that, so I don't know what's happening now."

Bruce shoved Duke aside. "Red Robin!"

 _"Hiiiiii, Ddaddy!"_ the teen slurred playfully, then burst into high-pitched giggles. _"Ai ceam is BETTER than sigin- sigatures!"_

 _'Shit.'_ Bruce punched open the other lines. "Orphan! Batman! Acknowledge, _now_."

No response. Bruce desperately checked the Bats' trackers. All of three of them were stationary, without even the slight jiggling that would indicate combat, which was not a good sign under the circumstances. Tim's vitals were abnormal, of course, indicating that he'd been drugged; Cassandra's showed that she was probably unconscious; Damian's that he was in physical distress. "DAMMIT!" He messaged the Gotham Knights, who had been scattered since the apocalypse and had never really reconvened afterward. Half of them weren't even in Gotham anymore, having been displaced and then preoccuped in their cities of refuge.

Bruce drew in a breath. "Batgirl?" he tried.

 _"Oh, for the love of- Kind of busy at the moment, B,"_ she said impatiently.

"What's your-?" He was looking up the answer himself even as he asked the question, and broke off in dismay when he found Batgirl's tracker all the way in Star City. "Never mind."

She must have heard something in his tone. _"What is it?"_

"Nothing. I can handle it." He switched lines. "Nightwing, Red Hood, this is an emergency."

No response from Jason. Bruce hadn't heard a word from his second son in over a week; combined with what was happening to his other children this very moment, he felt sick with worry.

 _"B,"_ Nighwing said in a strained voice, _"right now I'm tied up - literally - in a sinking ship with two freaking-out civilians and an unconscious shark-ninja to save. Can it wait?"_

"Yes, yes; be safe, Dick, oh God-"

 _"B?!"_ Nightwing exclaimed in alarm at the panic in his father's voice and the uncharacteristic breach of comm protocol.

Before Bruce could even start angsting over whether to call Superman or not, one of his screens burst into static, then resolved into an image of Harvey Dent's face. _"This is a message for Batman,"_ the villain snarled. _"The REAL Batman, not this punk Robin in a Batsuit."_ The view changed to Cassandra and Damian, still masked but both hanging in chains, unconscious and bleeding. _"I have some_ _business_ _with you, Batman. If you don't meet me within one hour, the girl gets it. You don't make it here in two, the brat's dead as well. Don't bother sending an imposter; I'll KNOW if it's you or not, Bats."_

 _"B, it'll be okay,"_ Batgirl's voice chimed in urgently. Apparently she'd checked in on Gotham and was now watching the broadcast. _"I'll see if Oracle can-"_ Bruce switched her off, desperate to catch the rest of Dent's instructions.

The instant the villain's screen went black, Bruce whirled away and stormed to suit up, burning with fury and fear for his children. He was so preoccupied that he doublechecked his equipment on complete autopilot, and had to do it over again just to make sure he'd done it properly. His children's safety and possibly their lives were at stake, he could not afford to be careless. _'You can't afford to be late, either!'_ the agitated voice in the back of his mind cried.

He swept back toward the Batcomputer, touching his belt to bring one of the cars to life as he did so. "Have you transferred all the data to my cowl?" he demanded, his voice already in Batman's harsh growl.

"Yeah," Duke said, jittery with tension. "No updates; still no answer from Hood; Nightwing probably won't make it in time to do any good, but he's on his way."

Batman processed the information as he stepped back to leave. "Tell them I'm coming. Keep an eye on Alfred and the-" _'Oh, God.'_

He had a moment of disorientation as the Bruce part of him reared up in horror, clashing against the intensely focused Batman part. He swept his gaze frantically around the cave and forgot to breathe for a minute when he saw his youngest children, his precious little ones who'd been tortured for who knew how long by a man dressed like he was right now.

They were huddled against the wall, staring at him. John's face was split into a Joker smile, his arms around his terrified younger brothers as they clung to him. The look of utter betrayal on Jack's face was devastating.

 _'No!'_ "Boys, I- It's not-"

 _"Batmaaaa~n, the flower's EATING me!"_ Red Robin sing-songed, a hint of panic swimming through his giggles, _"Ha ha ha~ I don't think it likes the Bat-acid..."_

"I'm coming, Red Robin." There was no time to reassure the little ones. Bruce had screwed up too badly, there was no possible _way_ to reassure them. "Duke," he snarled, "take care of my birds," then practically fled away into the Batmobile to rescue his other children.

Duke looked at the birds, his heart aching for them, but didn't time to say more than, "Guys, it's okay," before the mayhem on the computer stole his attention away.

[ _warble_ ] sobbed. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] had been right all along, Daddy was fake, Daddy was a lie, it was just ANOTHER GAME of Master's, such a cruel, cruel one. [ _warble_ ] had thought he was safe, he'd thought he had a daddy who loved him, but it wasn't true, it wasn't true, all along they'd still been prisoners, when the game ended it would be back to the Laughing and the chains and the meat and the _hurting_ , he couldn't do it again, he couldn't do it anymore, he wanted his daddy he wanted his daddy but THERE WAS NO DADDY, it was a lie, everything was always, _always a lie_...!

 _"NO NO NO NO,"_ [ _caw_ ] screeched, _"He lost, he lost, WEAK Daddy he_ _lost_ _and Bat killed him; I hate Bat and Daddy! I WON'T DO IT AGAIN! YOU DIE, BAT, I'LL KILL YOU!"_

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] wanted to laugh. _'I told you,'_ he thought. _'I told you all along.'_ A tremor went through his body. The game was finally ending, he had been WAITING for this, it was a relief but it also hurt. He didn't think he could do it again, either. When Master came back, and strapped him down to put the collar back on him or hit him or make him Laugh...he couldn't do it again. He couldn't.

 _"Save us,"_ [ _warble_ ] begged. _"[chirp-chirp], please. Save us."_

 _"Keep us safe,"_ [ _caw_ ] whimpered, hiding his face against his flockmate.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] wanted to. After so, so long of watching his precious ones stray away from him, watching them give their love and trust to Master, crying at night because he couldn't hold onto them and they didn't want to be protected anymore...now, at last, they had come to hide under his wings again.

Except he couldn't keep them safe. They couldn't run away, because Master always, always, _always_ caught them and punished them. Even when Master was pretending to be Daddy and didn't hurt them, he still caught them. They couldn't escape, they couldn't hide. No one would rescue them. Master killed everyone who tried to rescue them; all the good, stupid people here loved 'Daddy,' Master had tricked them and either they would help him or he would kill them, too. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was so _alone_ , so helpless, and worrying about his little ones made him want to scream.

They couldn't run away, but they could run a little bit. Master was not here right now. They didn't have to run too far; this time, now that his flockmates were on his side, they might make it. He couldn't save Grandpa, but he could save his flockmates.

When [ _chirp-chirp_ ] had been caught before, it was because he was young and stupid and still thought he could be free, and he'd only found the deep place by accident. Now...he knew were to go. He knew to go straight there, that freedom in this world didn't exist. He would go to the deep place on purpose, and if they were fast enough, they would reach it before Master caught up.

They would reach it, and they would jump. And then they would see Mama and Daddy again, the people who loved him so much and made him safe. He would see them again, they would smile good, sweet smiles and hug him so tight and say, _"What took you so long, Dickiebird? We missed you so much."_ He would show them his little ones, and Mama and Daddy would hug them, too. They would all be together and safe, where Master could never reach them, ever. The deep place was a good way to get to Mama and Daddy, because he would be able to fly one last time before he died, the same way Mama and Daddy had flown away.

 _"Come with me,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] said to his flockmates. They held his hands and followed him, relieved and trusting.

To be continued...


	43. Chapter 42

_***PLEASE READ THIS CHAPTER ON AO3.**_

 _The Birds Who Smile_ , a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Part 42 (rough draft)

Only three of Batman's allies had been able to answer his call for help, but it was enough. While Clayface took care of the bio-bombs that had been planted around the city, Azrael held off Poison Ivy long enough for Batman to rescue Red Robin and then finish the fight. By the time they all reached Batwoman, she'd already taken down Two-Face and was getting Orphan and Robin - Damian might be wearing a Batsuit, but Bruce had never once stopped thinking of the boy as his Robin - out of their chains.

"Thank you," Batman told them all, heartily sincere despite his gruff tone.

"It was nice to be around friends again," Basil said, gently cradling Orphan's head. She shifted at his touch, barely conscious. "We ought to get the team back together."

"I won't discourage it," Batman said, lifting Damian in his arms, "but I've got a full plate right now, and I don't often go out in uniform anymore. I probably won't be much use to you if the team reconvenes."

"You'll look after her?" Basil asked, carrying Orphan to the Batmobile in Batman's wake.

"Of course."

The drive home was quiet, despite all the people in the car. Cassandra and Damian had both been sedated so they could rest easier; Tim was propped limply in the front passenger seat, still giggling occasionally, dried tears crusting his face and pollen dusting his uniform. Most of his boots had been burned away - Batman had been lucky to get to him before any significant damage had been done to his feet. They were red and slightly swollen from the monster plant's digestive enzymes, but would heal.

[*See AO3]

Batman stabbed at a comm button on the car's dashboard. "Signal," he growled, "Clayface could have really used your help locating the bombs." Halfway through the mission, Duke had suddenly bowed out, giving a flimsy excuse in a strained voice that Batman hadn't had time to puzzle out.

 _"Are you done?"_ Duke asked immediately, still in that slightly high-pitched, almost panicked tone. _"Are you on your way back? How are Red Robin and the others?"_

"They're fine. What happened?" Batman demanded.

 _"Uhhh, ummm, so, I didn't know how to get the tracker program onto my phone, and I've been_ _looking_ _ever since I called you, I swear I've been looking, Batman, it's just...the grounds are so huge, and I have no freaking clue if I'm even going the right way in the dark-"_

"WHAT HAPPENED."

 _"...The birds,"_ Duke said in a small voice. _"I didn't- The tracker alarm thing went off, I headed for the last place it detected them, but it's so DARK and I can't find them-"_

"THE BIRDS LEFT THE HOUSE AGAIN?" Batman demanded, his panic turning instantly to fury, which was easier for him to feel. It had been bad enough when the children had left the house the first time, but now that they thought they were fleeing their abuser...

Duke's voice was nearly a sob. _"I'm sorry, I've been looking, I swear I-"_

Batman floored the accelerator. He stabbed Duke's commline off, unable to bear his voice anymore, and immediately called his eldest son. "NIGHTWING."

 _"I'm on the edge of town, B-"_

"The mission's over; GET TO THE CAVE."

 _"What happened?!"_

"JUST DO IT."

When he was close enough to home, he called Duke again, trying and mostly failing to calm his voice. "I need you in the cave. All three of them are hurt, and Orphan and Robin need to be treated as soon as possible." He had been training Duke in first aid. The boy was still an emergency-only beginner at doing medical stitches, but he could at least get Damian and Cassandra as safe and comfortable as possible until Bruce was able to treat them more thoroughly.

Duke's voice sounded thick and subdued. _"All right."_

"I'm sorry for losing my temper," Bruce said impatiently. He could tell, in the back of his mind, that his lingering anger made the apology meaningless, but he couldn't stop his panic about the birds' safety. Too many of his children had been hurt tonight, if anything happened to the little ones, he would never-

There was the cave entrance. He roared inside, remembered in time to come to a comparatively slow stop for the sake of his injured passengers, leaped out of the car, and was furious to find the cave empty. "NIGHTWING!" he bellowed.

 _"I'm still halfway across town, B! What the hell is going on?!"_

"Three of your siblings are injured, and the children are _missing_ somewhere on the grounds. I need you HERE."

Nightwing swore. _"I'm coming as fast as I can. You'd better not be yelling at anyone else the way you're yelling at me."_

Bruce snapped off the line without answering and tried to force his arms to be gentle as he started lifting his children out of the Batmobile and carrying them to the medbay.

Duke arrived on a powerbike, which he instantly dismounted, but he slowed hesitantly when he approached Bruce.

"Cassandra and Damian were tortured," Bruce said shortly, laying Tim down on a medical table. "Get them ready for treatment. Don't use any medication on any of them without permission, they all already have drugs in their systems."

"Okay," Duke said shakily.

[*See AO3]

Bruce brushed a palm over [Tim's] hair to calm him. "Nightwing will be here in a minute, he's going to bring them back." There was no way he himself could wait, he fully intended to locate the children and make sure they were safely contained, but they were certainly going to be too frightened to allow him to approach or touch them. He would need someone they trusted to convey them home.

[*]

Suddenly terrified of what Tim might be sensing through some kind of link with his frightened young counterpart, Bruce raced for the nearest vehicle suitable for traveling through the trees of Wayne Manor, only remembering when he was outside the cave that he was still dressed as Batman. _'I wasn't going to touch them, anyway. I just have to find them, make sure they're safe...keep them safe until Nightwing comes..."_

He was concerned to see the little dots of the children's trackers close to a 30-foot cliff, and Bruce cursed himself for not thinking to show Duke how to get a copy of the tracking program from the Batcomputer. He hadn't been expecting the children's safety to depend so heavily on Duke. _'He's only seventeen, I shouldn't be giving him that sort of responsiblity at all, the birds are MY children, anything that happens to them is my fault, oh God please let them be safe...'_

 _Hurry. Time's running out_ seemed to echo in his ears over and over again, phantom voices that were sounding less and less like Tim's. _Hurry! Hurry! Stop him before he-!_

There they were, tiny figures in the dark. They were shouting and crowing and signing sharply, arguing, but the minute they saw him, they scattered. Peter took off into the trees; John seized his smallest brother and tried to drag him along, but Jack screamed and resisted. Bruce halted at once and dismounted, shoving back his cowl, hurrying to head them off. "Boys, stop, I won't hurt you, I won't touch you, just please-"

Jack looked to be in an agony of terror, frantically resisting his brother's grip but also straining away from Bruce.

 _"HURRY!"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] shrieked.

He couldn't. He _couldn't_. Not down there, not that way, [ _warble_ ] was even more afraid of the deep darkness than he was of Master-who-wasn't-Smiling-yet. _"Noooo!"_ he howled.

He couldn't. No time left. They had to run _now_ , or Master would catch them, and if [ _warble_ ] refused to come, [ _chirp-chirp_ ] would have to jump alone. He was going to die either way, with a collar around his neck or flying into his parents' arms, and he needed to die free. He had to let go.

Bruce fell to his knees in front of Jack, who'd been abandoned by both brothers and was now staring at him, paralyzed with terror. "Jack, it's all right, I would _never_ hurt you, I'm not angry, I-" Something made him look up. John-

John had not run off to the side like Peter had. John was heading straight for the cliff's edge. John was-

"JOHN, _NO_!"

Bruce launched forward. He didn't know what inhuman surge of power managed to carry him fast enough to reach, but somehow, by some miracle, he managed to close his fingers on the child's shirt just as he leaped off the edge.

He yanked back, falling hard to the ground as John tumbled back against him. Bruce's feet were slipping over the edge, he scrabbled to get more of his body onto safe ground but John was _fighting_ him, the boy was going to tip them over again-

"MMAMAAAAA!" John's arms reached desperately for the cliff's edge, his screams full of horror and despair. "MAMAAAAA...!"

With one arm locked around the boy, Bruce clawed them away from the edge until they were far enough that John's struggles wouldn't send them plummeting. His breaths were coming hard and fast with residual panic.

"M-Mamaaa...!" The child kept wailing for his mother, straining to break free, but Bruce couldn't let go of him even if he'd wanted to. He knelt there in the dirt, hunched over as if using his body as a shield would be any use in keeping John safe, holding the boy probably much too tightly now that they were out of immediate danger. His other palm was pressed flat against his son's chest, drinking in the sense of his heartbeat pounding _alive, alive, alive, alive...!_

Then John started having a panic attack, and he _had_ to let go. "John- Johnny, please-"

John was fighting for breath, trembling violently, no longer struggling because he seemed to have lost control of his stiff limbs. Bruce, positioning himself between the boy and the cliff's edge, tried to keep his touch light. "Johnny, breathe. Draw it in and hold it, no one's going to hurt you-"

"You're safe, baby bird."

Relief hit Bruce so hard it was almost a shock. He practically wrenched himself away from John; watched, stiff with relief and pain and longing, as Dick knelt beside his young counterpart. He looked deathly tired, his Nightwing uniform battered and torn across the chest as if by claws or fangs, but he was _here_. Peter and Jack clung to him, pulling at him frantically as they stared at Bruce with huge, terrified eyes.

"Look at me, Dickiebird. You're safe."

"M-M-Mama," John choked out. "Mmama..."

"She's gone, Dickie. It's not time to see her yet. Someday, when you're very old, but not now, Johnny, not yet. Johnny, look at me, Mom would _cry_ if she saw you trying to jump."

After a long time, John had calmed enough to remember how to sign. _"Neck, Laugh, meat, pain..."_

"No, Johnny. We're going to go home."

"Ddi'ckkie," Jack whimpered, "Bba'ttmman...hhe Bba'ttmman...!"

"I know, Jackie. It's okay. Batman and Bruce and Daddy are all the same person. He will never hurt you."

Jack sobbed, burying his face in Dick's shoulder. Peter began to crow.

"It's okay, baby birds, I _swear_ it's okay, you're safe, I promise I will keep you safe. Do you understand me? I promise. I would die before I let anyone, _anyone_ hurt you, and Bruce would, too."

 _"Yes, you die,"_ Peter agreed, his sharp teeth bared in a snarl.

Dick, after asking after Damian and the others, finally managed to get the birds headed for the house. Bruce took a different route, not wanting them children to be distressed by the sight of him following them. In the cave, as soon as he confirmed that all three of their trackers were still together with Dick's, he went straight for the medbay.

[*] Duke was sponging dried blood off of Cassandra with slightly shaking hands. He jumped when Bruce came striding in. "Did you...find them...?"

"Yes," Bruce snapped. "They're fine." Without another word, he got to work patching up Damian and then Cassandra, with Duke jumping to his every instruction. Afterward, he ordered, "We're done. Go to bed," and Duke disappeared like the Bat he was training to become.

Bruce brought medicine and bandages over to the last occupied med table and started tending to Tim's feet.

[*]

Alarmed, Bruce abandoned his task to check Tim's face, but though there was some green smeared across his mouth, it looked as if the standard protective coating on his lips had done its job. And anyway, if he'd been poisoned by Ivy's personal toxin, he'd be long dead by now.

Still, it was highly unpleasant violation to be kissed against one's will. "I'm sorry she did that to you, Tim," he murmured.

[*]

"No, you don't," Bruce said firmly. "I'm going to work tomorrow." He didn't think he'd be able to face his betrayed, terrified birds for a whole day, anyway; might as well be useful while he was making himself scarce. "You will stay off these feet for at least two days and _rest_."

[*]

"Yes, yes, all right. It's all right, Tim, I've got you." Tim was asleep by the time Bruce carried him to his room. Bruce [still set up a Star Trek marathon for him on a tablet, then] left to take his injured siblings to their own beds.

Then he hesitated. He stared at his phone for a long time, where four tracker dots were clustered together in Dick's room. He finally decided to call first.

 _"Hey,"_ Dick answered wearily.

"Should I...stay away for a while?"

Dick sounded almost as uncertain as Bruce did. _"Maybe...stop by and see how it goes?"_

"...All right."

To be continued...

A/N: I'd been using the "Dickey" spelling to differentiate John's nicknames from Dick's, but I don't think it was really working, so I guess I'll just use "Dickie" for both.

Last chapter, I had the perfect chance to mention Carrie again (in John's idea of heaven), but I _forgot_! D:

Bruce, in his panic, was being unfair to Duke; it will be addressed next chapter.

I really appreciate that recent sweet anonymous review, but FFN is so poorly designed that there's no way for me to respond to it. (I stopped putting review replies on my profile, because I shouldn't have to use my _profile_ , of all things, for communication.) If any anon wants a response to their questions, please ask them on AO3, which is designed by sane people who actually give a flip about their users (my AO3 username is "Raberba_girl"). Or, if you have a DeviantArt account and feel more comfortable there, you can ask on DA (username "raberbagirl"). I do have a Tumblr, but I hate that site _even more_ than I hate FFN, which is saying something. X'''D


	44. Chapter 43

_***Please read this on AO3.**_

 _The Birds Who Smile_ , a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Part 43 (rough draft)

A/N: **I made almost no progress organizing my notes.** The only reason I managed to produce this chapter is because my muse has still been really itchy to write, despite the giant mess and all the setbacks from real life and depression. I am super-stressed and I hate my life.

o.o.o

Dick had pulled around to the garage rather than the cave. Jack was practically glued to his side and crying, Peter was hunched in a corner pretending he wasn't crying, and John's eyes were empty of life. "Okay, come on, kiddos. Here, try holding hands, there we go..."

"I-I...dohh't...wwann't," Jack choked out, "hhurr't mmy nne'ck, Ddickie, hhurr't mme, I dohht wann't to..."

"Nobody is going to hurt you, baby bird. Nobody is going to hurt your neck, or any other part of you."

"Bba'tmmann," Peter hissed, "Bba'tmmann, ha ha ha ha ha!"

"No. Our Batman and the Batman Who Laughs are two different people. They are not the same person, because Laughs is dead and Bruce is alive and loves us."

On and on it went, all the way to Dick's room, the younger children clinging to his hand and John silently drifting along with the other like a balloon on a string. Over and over again, _Bruce will never hurt you, the Man Who Laughs is dead, I will keep you safe_ and _He's Batman, he will hurt us, we will Laugh and we're so scared...!_

 _'Does Bruce have to go through this_ _all the time_ _?'_ Dick wondered, frustrated by the children's complete refusal to believe him. He headed straight for his bathroom, let go of John's hand, and gently tried to disentangle his other hand from the children's tight grip. As soon as Peter and Jack lost their hold, they scrambled to slam the door shut. "Baby birds, I love you and you're safe, but I need to get clean and patch myself up. Give me maybe ten minutes or so, okay? Just ten minutes."

They couldn't bear to let him out of their sight, even when the only thing between them was a shower stall door, and Dick didn't want them in the stall with him when he was so preoccupied with not aggravating his wounds. He ended up solving the problem by singing, offering enough of himself across the thin divide that they were able to tolerate not seeing him.

 _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]  
_

Joker laughter put a stop to it. Dick, afraid that something had gone wrong, tried to open the stall door without hitting one of the kids.

"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!" John bellowed wildly, tears slipping down his face as he stood naked by the door. "HA HA HA HA HA...!"

"All right, Johnny, I'm getting out, I'm getting out, please stop..." He wrapped a towel around his waist and tried to comfort John, but the boy started screaming when he saw the blood from Dick's newly-cleaned wounds starting to smear over both of them.

"Aaagghh, I am so not up to this...!" He focused on bandaging himself instead. Jack came to cling to him as he worked, and the older boys pulled everything out of a set of lower cabinets so they could shut themselves in.

Once Dick wasn't bleeding anymore, he exhaled and looked at Jack, who tipped his head up to pin Dick with the most heart-melting puppy eyes in the world. "I swear, Jackie, I'd probably do anything for you right now..."

"Kkee'p mme ssa'fffe," Jack whispered.

"Baby bird. There is _nothing to be afraid of_. There is nothing to keep you safe from, because there is nothing threatening you."

The puppy eyes did not abate.

Dick breathed deeply. "You know what, I see some little feet that need attention." The children had not put on shoes or socks before leaving the house. Dick led Jack over to the bathtub and moved the chair over so Jack could sit in it with his legs resting on the tub's edge. Dick himself took down the shower head and pulled up a stool so he could clean all the dirt and dried blood from the little boy's feet and bandage the cuts. "Does that feel better, Jackie?" Jack simply crawled into his lap.

"Mmy ttuhnn!" announced Peter, who had come out of the cabinet to watch with great interest.

"That's right, Petey. Sit down and I'll get you fixed up, too. Hey, babiest bird, I can't work on your brother when you're in my lap, okay? ...How about you get behind me and hold onto my shoulders instead?" When he was done, Peter chirred in satisfaction and held up his feet to admire. "Aaaaand last but not least..." Dick gave gentle warning before opening the cabinet. John was curled up inside, his arms over his head, and did not move even when Dick called to him. "Johnnybird, I promise you're safe. Come out and show me your feet, I bet they're not very happy right now."

John neither obeyed nor resisted. Dick had to physically pull him out, set him in the tub, and then dry him off and dress him after getting his feet taken care of. Since Dick hadn't had time to fetch anything from the children's room and they did not allow him to leave his own, he didn't have anything to put them in except T-shirts from the back of his closet that were huge on the boys. Peter, in a Wonder Woman shirt and little else, started to inspect the room; John lay limply on the bed in a tie-dyed shirt Dick had made when he was thirteen; and Jack, tense and anxious, was practically swallowed by a Teen Titans (founding members) shirt.

Dick, completely exhausted, sat on his bed and leaned against the headboard. Jack immediately crawled over, getting tripped up a bit in his giant shirt, and attempted to burrow into him. After a minute, John lethargically followed.

It was quiet for a while, except for the soft noises Peter was making. "Guys," Dick finally said, "it's okay. Everything is super very much okay. So we're all going to have a nice long nap, and then feel better when we wake up and have something yummy to eat, and by then we'll have forgiven Bruce for being big and liking to wear black, right?"

"Bbat'mman," Jack whispered. "Hhello, Cllleber Bbird, di' you mmiss me? We ggonna habe llotsa ffun, ohh yyess, ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha-!"

" _No_ ," Dick snapped. "No, _no_ , that man is DEAD. The only Batman we have left is a _nice_ one who _loves_ you. Bruce loves you and would _never hurt you_."

 _"He is very stupid,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] remarked to his smallest flockmate.

 _"[chirp-chirp], Master will kill us, he will kill us!"_

 _"Hush. Wait until [big chirp-chirp] is asleep, put on a leash, make one side heavy, fly with the other. Neck hurt QUICK, [snap], then safe safe safe from Master."_

 _"No, [chirp-chirp],"_ [ _warble_ ] wept. _"No, I don't want to die, I don't want to die, please keep me safe!"_

 _"[warble],"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] told him gently, _"there is no safe alive. Master very much LIES. He say 'safe safe safe' so that when danger comes, it hurts even more."_

 _"But...Daddy..."_

 _"No Daddy. Only Master."_

[ _warble_ ] cried some more. _"I don't want to die...!"_

 _"I am very tired,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] murmured. Tired in his soul, he meant.

Dick, meanwhile, was tired in body. He'd checked his phone and then dozed off in the middle of all the twittering, and now jerked awake when his phone buzzed with a call from Bruce. "Hey."

 _"Should I...stay away for a while?"_

Dick looked at the birds, who would certainly not be pleased to see their guardian, but it wasn't like they and Bruce could hide from each other forever. "Maybe...stop by and see how it goes?"

 _"...All right."_

The knock on the door, soft as it was, made all three birds tense and sent Peter racing to join his brothers. When Dick got up, they clung to him and begged him to stay; when he insisted on disentangling himself and going to answer the door, the children hid.

Bruce cautiously looked around. "I think they're under the bed," Dick sighed.

"...Strategically sound," Bruce noted heavily. With the only exit blocked, the children had a better chance of eluding capture underneath the bed, rather than limiting their options by fleeing into an enclosed space such as the bathroom or closet.

Dick rubbed at his face. "I don't know what to do with them."

Bruce carefully got down on the floor and surveyed the situation underneath the bed. The children, staring at him in terror, started to move back, though Peter hissed and nudged them over when they got too close to the other edge. _'In case Dick acts as my ally and tries to grab them from that side while they're distracted looking at me,'_ Bruce realized, admiration mixing with exasperation. "Boys," he said, "I will not hurt you. I only came to see if you're all right."

As expected, there was no response, and he finally stood up again. "Try to get some rest. I'll have my phone close, don't hesitate to call."

"This is ridiculous... How did this even _happen_? Why are they so freaked out?"

"...It was my fault."

"You know what," Dick suddenly snapped, "I don't want to know. Just get out of here, I'll handle it."

Without a word, Bruce left. He moved down the hall with the odd sensation of being disconnected from the world. His thoughts moved from person to person, each member of his patchwork family without whom he truly would be a solitary creature of the night. Sick, preoccupied, injured, injured, rejecting, out of reach, busy... _'I want to go down and work in the cave. I want to be in my cave or hunt down those who hurt people; I want to burrow or fight, I don't want to see anyone I love ever again.'_ He hurt everyone he tried to love. They all hurt him, too, so deeply that sometimes he didn't want to be Bruce Wayne at all anymore, only Batman.

 _Only Batman. Crafted from darkness since the dawn of time to be my vessel and drag the whole mutliverse into darkness-_

Bruce took out his phone, mentally flipping the middle finger to Barbatos. He needed some light, he didn't want any right now but he needed it, and his options at the moment were limited. He was halfway through calling Barbara before he realized that he'd recently hurt her, too, cutting her off when she'd tried to help.

She answered before he could hang up. _"How may I be of service to you?"_ she asked coolly, her tone making it clear that she was probably going to cut ties again if he asked any favors of her.

Fortunately, he'd only called her to hear the sound of her voice. "I just wanted to let you know...everyone's home, and safe. A little worse for wear, but they'll be all right."

 _"I know. Dick answered my messages."_

"Hn."

 _"..."_

"..."

 _"So why did you really call me, Bruce?"_

"That was it. Just...to tell you they're safe." A pause. "I have time to explain now."

 _"No need. Ivy and Two-Face threatened Gotham, you had to call in the cavalry, and your new Robins got caught in the crossfire."_

"...They're never going to trust me again, Barbara."

 _"Bruce, it_ _just_ _happened. Give them time and patience, they'll bounce back. As long as you don't screw up. ...Which is asking too much of you, isn't it."_

"I would...I would fix it if I could, but they won't let me near them, and Dick...he's tired, Barbara. He never asked for this. I can't heap the entire responsibility on him, but I don't know what else to do. Cassandra's injured now, the others have their own lives to live, I...I don't know..."

After a while, she said softly, _"You know I can't adopt three kids, Bruce, but short of that, is there anything I can do?"_ She meant it this time.

Bruce went still. "Actually...I'm going to be looking into it myself, but if you wouldn't mind... I'd appreciate it if you could help me locate Jason."

 _"He didn't show tonight?"_

"His tracker's been off, and he didn't respond to the alert at all, even to refuse to help. I haven't heard from him in a while even before this. I'm...concerned."

 _"It's probably nothing, but I'll definitely look into it."_

"Thank you, Barbara."

Bruce resumed walking after the call ended, heading for Alfred's suite and remotely activating the manor's security system as he went. When he paused to turn the kitchen light off, he found that the room wasn't empty - Duke was sitting at the table with a bowl of melting ice cream, crying quietly.

"Duke-"

The teen, head ducked to hide his face, abruptly swept the bowl into the sink and tried to escape, but Bruce managed to get to him in time. "Duke, I'm sorry, I-"

"I'm...sorry," Duke choked out. "I..."

"Duke, come here. I'm sorry, it was my fault, I shouldn't have-"

Duke burst into a fresh wave of tears, unable to fight them anymore, and stood there in Bruce's arms simultaneously pulling away and curling into him.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said again when the boy had quieted enough for a murmur to be heard.

"I screwed up..."

"No, no, you did a good job-"

"No," Duke wailed, one hand fisting against Bruce as if he couldn't decide whether to push away or cling, his other arm bracing against Bruce's shoulder so he could press his face and the newest tears against it.

"I am so proud of you," Bruce told him firmly, terrified that if he let go, he would never get this one back, either.

"No...no...!"

"You did _well_. Your first time solo behind the screens during a supervillain attack, a _double_ supervillain attack, you did just what any of us would have done-"

"They got hurt...b'cause of me..."

"-you went after the children when none of us were able to, you _saved Tim_ , Duke, he would have been crippled or died if you hadn't enabled me to go after him-"

"Couldn't find them..."

"-your help has been invaluable-"

"All my fault-"

"DUKE." Bruce forced the teen to meet his eyes. Probably shouldn't have shaken him, though. "Stop. _I_ am the one apologizing to _you_ , because _you did everything right_ and it's _my_ fault that anything went wrong."

There was a long silence.

"I'm sorry," Bruce finally said, "and when I say I'm proud of you, I _mean it_."

Duke slowly wiped his eyes.

Bruce tried to be more gentle this time when he set his hand on the young man's shoulder. "I've been taking you for granted for a long time, Duke. I haven't told you how much I've come to rely on you, how much work you've done that I can't turn to anyone else for. I'm so grateful you're here - I'm so grateful you're _here_ , Duke, in this house, even if you had nothing to do with Bat business."

Duke looked away and scoffed quietly. Bruce had to force himself not to shake his shoulder again in an effort to convey his sincerity. "Duke...this house gets lonely. My children...they keep growing up and leaving me, because that's what children do, and I know that you're probably going to leave soon because you're a man already, eighteen or not...but it's been a privilege to be your guardian, and it's been wonderful having you here. It will be wonderful to keep having you here for as long as you're willing to stay. Just hearing your voice, knowing you're around, it's been...good. You and the others...you're the ones who remind me why life is worth living in the light."

Duke sniffed and took a few steadying breaths. "I...forgot. I just... _forgot_ about the kids, I didn't even notice they were gone until the tracker alarm went off."

"Duke. I forgot about my own children long enough to parade in front of them dressed like their torturer. _I'm_ the reason they ran."

Duke sniffed again. "Yeah...you suck," he whispered, his smile incredibly fragile. He allowed Bruce to draw him into another hug, this time a gentler, one-armed one.

"I'm sorry I shouted at you," Bruce murmured. "I'm sorry I blamed you for things that weren't your fault, and for not acknowledging your work. Thank you for running the computer for us tonight, and for going after the little ones, and helping me with Tim and the others."

"And for being awesome," Duke prompted almost inaudiably, looking at the floor.

"And for being awesome."

Duke fidgeted a little. "I was joking..."

"I wasn't."

There was another long silence, this time a more comfortable one. "Duke," Bruce finally said.

"Hm?"

"I _have_ been taking you for granted." _'_ _Still_ _, after making that mistake with every single one.'_ "...Will you be offended if I ask you what you want me to buy you?"

Duke barked out a laugh. "You trying to buy me off?"

Bruce ran a hand through his hair in frustration, having learned from experience to expect this sort of reaction. "I don't know why no one ever believes that I _like_ spending money on the people I care about. I like being rich enough to _afford_ almost anything my family could want, yet none of you ever ask me for anything..."

Except Damian, but the boy usually asked for things he shouldn't have, like an assassin's armory or various unusual pets that would ultimately cause more unnecessary work for Alfred. Jason had always loved receiving books, but had a hang-up about being gifted with too many at a time, and had treated everything else Bruce bought for him with suspicion or scorn. Both Dick and Cassandra had always been discouragingly unimpressed with almost everything Bruce gave them, preferring non-material expressions of their father's affection. Tim had been exasperatingly self-reliant from Day 1; Alfred seemed to see store-bought gifts, at least from Bruce, almost as an insult; Clark reacted to anything Bruce bought for him as if it was either pretentious posturing to be pitied or rich boy ignorance to be laughed at; and the only gifts that seemed to hold any meaning for Selina were ones he'd had to arrange for her to steal. It was as if they all purposely conspired to devalue the form of love Bruce felt most comfortable expressing.

After a moment, Duke mused, "It'd be nice to have my own motorcycle."

"I'll get you one," Bruce said immediately, relieved. "In your Signal colors, so you can take it on the job."

Duke considered this.

"And another for your civilian life," Bruce added, realizing what could be giving him pause. "If you want. Just make sure your license is in order."

"...Will you take me to pick it out?"

"Yes."

"And not be a control freak about what I like?"

"I will not make any attempt to influence your decisions."

"Okay." Duke held out his hand. "If you buy me two bikes, I'll keep being your obligatory underage companion."

Bruce's mouth twitched in a mix of amusement and embarrassment, and he grasped the teen's hand. "Deal." Duke went up to bed looking like a weight had fallen from his shoulders, and Bruce continued on to check on his butler.

Alfred was sleeping well, and his forehead at last felt cool to the touch. Bruce tidied up a little, procrastinating. When he realized that he simply didn't want to leave, didn't want to go back to his empty room where he almost certainly wouldn't be able to sleep, he carefully lay down on the bed beside Alfred. He hesitated a moment, then laid the older man's arm around his own shoulders, glad that although Alfred stirred, he didn't wake.

Then he just lay in the dark for a long time, remembering. All he could see in his mind were the birds' little faces. Peter's fear and hatred were bad enough, but he'd endured the rage of his children before. It was Jack's betrayed despair that made him sick, and the dark void in John's eyes, that he would literally rather die than be with Bruce. _'But I'm...not him...'_

Self-loathing warred with frustration. It wasn't his fault, it wasn't his _fault_ , he loved his children more than he could stand and he would never deliberately hurt them. Yet...there was a world, there was at least one dark, cursed world where a version of him had done just that. _'What did he do to them, that they would look at me that way?'_ Each scar on their small bodies had a horrifying story behind it, and there were so many, _so many_ scars...scars upon scars in some cases, chafe marks and lash marks and burn marks, if he could take away the pain those marks represented by killing himself, he would, but what had been done was done-

 _'Zatanna could erase their memories,'_ he thought suddenly. He knew it could be done, because it had been done to him. He'd been _so angry_ when he found out, but he hadn't been hurt as deeply as his birds had been. They might _want_ to forget their past.

 _'To enjoy their love and their smiles when they have no memory of what your other self did to them, how is that not just as terrible a violation as what was done to you?'_ The scars would still be there, on their bodies and on their souls. _'And when the day comes that they ask their father why their skin isn't smooth and whole like it should be, what will you tell them? How will you explain why they can't remember? How much of a monster will it make you to look into their innocent eyes and lie to them about themselves?'_

No memory erasure, then, unless they chose it for themselves in adulthood. He would have to earn their trust again the hard way, because it was the right way. ...Or he would have to give them up, to guardians who could give them the security they might be incapable of finding with Bruce.

 _'I can't...'_ Just _finding_ someone suitable was nearly impossible. Even if there was someone both worthy and able, the thought of actually doing it, of placing his little ones into someone else's arms, packing their things, sending them away, signing papers to relinquish any claim to them, never speaking to them again... _'I can't...!'_

By the time he fell asleep, there was a damp patch where his face rested against Alfred's nightshirt.

To be continued...

A/N: I could have sworn there was a scene in the comics where Bruce finds out that his memory has been erased several times, every time he finds out about something, but now I can't remember if it involved Ra's al Ghul or Barbatos. I think was...Ra's, in either Rebirth _All Star Batman_ or Rebirth _Detective Comics_ , when Bruce kept finding out that the League of Shadows isn't a myth after all? Something like that.

The "John vs. Bruce" story arc I've spent the past ten chapters prologuing is super-complicated and _I need my notes to be organized_ for it, so I have no idea when the next update will be. Either I'll punch life in the face and organize my notes like a boss and make that story arc the best it can be, which will probably take a little while, or I'll continue to fail at life and keep plowing ahead at the mercy of my muse with a chopped-up roadmap and belatedly discover that I forgot to write, like, five (three? ten?) chapters' worth of material, so who knows. DX


	45. Chapter 44

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 44 (rough draft)**

A/N: CHOPPED-UP ROADMAP AND IRRESPONSIBLE MUSE IT IS! :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) DX orz

o.o.o

Bruce awoke to the sound of a thump and soft swearing, and jerked upright to find his butler in the kitchenette, bracing one hand against the countertop and glaring at the rapidly spreading pool of orange juice on the floor. "Alfred! What are you doing out of bed?" Bruce exclaimed, hurrying up to him.

" _Attempting_ to put together some breakfast. I'm quite famished."

This was a good sign, particularly paired with the cool forehead Bruce could feel under his palm. "Sit down, I'll get you something to eat. Let me take your temperature."

"No need. The fever's broken, I feel fine. Other than hungry, a bit weak, and in need of a wash."

Bruce still insisted, and was glad to confirm that Alfred's temperature back to normal. Between the two of them, they got a meal on the table, and ate together as Bruce caught Alfred up on everything that had happened. The butler gradually straightened as he ate, his movements more quick and sure over the course of breakfast, but his expression was grave.

"This is...ill news," Alfred said heavily.

"I'm so angry at myself, I could...punch...something." Bruce didn't have the words to express the depth of his self-disgust.

"We will get through this, as we have endured every other blow this family has suffered."

After they'd finished eating, Alfred went to shower and dress, and Bruce left to do the same in his own room. He checked his phone as he went, frowned in confusion, and started to detour toward his study with its entrance to the Batcave, but then he suddenly heard Dick shouting. Bruce instantly forgot what he was doing and rushed to his son's room instead.

o.o.o.o.o

Dick wasn't sure what woke him. The first thing he noticed was that two warm bodies were tucked close to his, one of them a sleeping Peter, the other-

"JACK!"

The little boy, who had a film of snot beneath his nose, had been sucking and chewing on his thumb, but his teeth were so sharp that blood was streaming down his arm.

"Jackie, don't _do_ that! I can give you something safe to chew on if- JOHNNY WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" He'd dragged Jack halfway to the bathroom before he'd realized what the third child was up to.

John, who was struggling with a belt looped around his neck, screeched and fought when Dick descended on him. "What the HELL, Johnny!" Dick shouted. John resisted so strongly that it was an actual fight to force the belt off of him and fling it away, and then hold him down to stop him from scrambling after it. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

" _CROOOOOW_! _CROOOOOW_! _CROOOO_ -!"

The door banged open. At the sight of Bruce, all three birds screamed, and the younger ones dove under the bed. John managed to buck out of Dick's hands and followed.

"What happened?" Bruce asked urgently.

"Oh, NOTHING!" Dick spat with cheerful savagery. "Just one of my baby brothers trying to chew his own thumb off, and another one trying to FUCKING STRANGLE HIMSELF...!"

Bruce swore and got down to check under the bed. Jack was sobbing, Peter was hissing; John had started to Joker-laugh. Bruce swore and thrust his hands into his hair, trying to think. "Help me smoke them out. Shut the bathroom and closet doors first," he ordered, going to close the exit to the hall. The children might be able to open doors now, but they were still too slow and clumsy at it to be able to escape before being caught.

The birds ended up under the desk, clinging to each other and shaking. Peter's unintelligible shouting masked Jack's weeping, but didn't completely cover the sound of John's incessant laughter.

Dick was covering his face, unable to bear the children's anguish but unable to leave them alone with the person they feared so much. Bruce blocked off the gap between the underside of the bed and the floor, then just waited, unable to do anything else. When, at long last, the noise began to die down, Dick looked up wearily.

"Do you want me to stay?" Bruce asked.

"Does it matter?" Dick said, his tone bitter. " _They_ don't."

Bruce surveyed his eldest, who did not look up to the task of indefinitely being the sole caregiver of three deeply traumatized young children. "Obviously, John is on suicide watch for the time being. I know it's a lot to ask of you-"

Before he could explain, Dick snapped out his cell phone and made a call. "Heeey, Walls... Yeah, that's because I _feel_ like crap..."

Bruce exhaled. He had to go to work soon and didn't like the idea of a relative outsider in his home while he was absent, but he knew better than to deny Dick the company of his best friend right now. He quietly started arranging for his security system to admit Wally West.

While they waited for the younger Flash to arrive (the birds were quiet and motionless as they stared at their captors), Bruce said, "I called Stephanie earlier to help with the children, since we're so short-handed. I'm not sure why she's in the cave, I heard you shouting before I could go check."

Dick seemed to cheer up slightly. "Huh. Well, between Nightwing, Flash, and Spoiler, I bet we can make sure all three baby birds stay fed and loved today. And, y'know, alive."

Speaking of fed, "Oh- Alfred's feeling better, too."

"Aaaaahhhh, finally some good news..."

"Try to make him take it easy today, but he was up and about when I last saw him."

"Yep, that's Alfred."

 _whoosh!_

"Dickiiiieee, what happened?!"

"Wallyyyyy!" Dick reveled in the hug. "I am feeling so tired and sad and inadequate."

"Aw, bro!" Wally, still holding his friend, peered curiously at the birds. "There are adorable things under your desk!"

"Yes! Freaked-out, bleeding, suicidal adorable things!"

"Whaaaaat?!"

Just having someone other than an anxious, obsessive Bat to talk to made Dick feel better. He was halfway through his explanation before he realized that his father had vanished at some point. "Gah, Bruce!"

"Oh," Wally suddenly remembered, "do any of Gotham's Rogues have a red dragon theme?"

"Red dragon? No."

"Because I swear I saw one flying this direction on my way over."

"Hmmmm."

"A small dragon, probably. But definitely a flying thing with claws and a tail. I thought you guys ought to know."

"Bruce's security's probably picked up on it by now, or will soon, but I'll let him know just in case."

"Cool." Wally sat on the floor, putting himself on the children's level but still keeping his distance. "Hi, kiddos! I'm Wally. You maybe want to let me and Dick put a band-aid on that?"

Meanwhile, Bruce was entering the cave, where he found the blonde teenager asleep on a cot. "Stephanie," he said, trying to wake her gently.

She blinked up at him for a minute, then sat up indignantly. "I came right away, Bruce, but then your STUPID HOUSE didn't let me in, and you wouldn't answer your phone!"

"Sorry," he said guiltily. He hadn't kept his phone close enough to notice her calls while he slept, and had forgotten to program her automatic admittance into the security system beforehand.

"I had to get in through the cave! And even then, the house _still_ wouldn't let me in!"

"Sorry."

"How come it's easier to get into the Batcave than your house?!"

It was because the cave security's default programming was to admit all Bats regardless of circumstances, as opposed to the house's system being less selective but more regulated. Bruce, however, didn't bother to say any of this, knowing that the complaints were rhetorical. "...Sorry."

"..."

"..."

"So!" Stephanie said brightly, mood flipping like a switch, "Where are the babies?"

"In Dick's room. Wally's there, too; he only just arrived. I'll let you see yourself there, I have to get ready for work." Of course the Batcomputer, in sync with his phone, would choose that moment to start beeping an alert. Bruce sighed deeply and went to check, then headed toward the back yard rather than his room. He stood on the terrace sending an email to his secretary and Tim's, explaining that Tim would be out sick and he himself would be coming in late. Soon after he finished, a giant, furry, winged creature came lumbering out of the trees.

"If you're going to be flying a bright red dragon-bat to Wayne Manor," he called to the petite rider, "do it at night. I don't need people seeing you and wondering why Bruce Wayne is doing business with mythological creatures." The great beast ambled up and snorted a friendly greeting at him. Bruce reached to pat the closest massive shoulder, glad that the timing meant he was taking a shower after getting particles of dragon snot in his hair, rather than before. "Hello, Goliath."

Maya Ducard slid gracefully to the ground. "We landed a ways back and approached the house on foot."

"Still."

"Hah, Damian really did learn his paranoia from you."

"He's injured, by the way. Resting. And I have to go to work soon; feel free to make yourself at home for as long as you like."

"Cool."

Bruce turned back to the dragon-bat. "Goliath," he said, speaking clearly (they still weren't sure exactly how much human speech he understood), "stay in the trees or in the cave. Do not go into the house, and do not fly during the daytime, do you understand?"

The creature whuffled.

"Damian is asleep right now, but he will be glad to see you this afternoon."

"Rreeeuupphh," Goliath rumbled. After Maya had removed his gear, he turned and ambled off to explore the grounds.

At last, Bruce, feeling even more tired than usual, was able to prepare and leave for work without anymore interruptions. Maya went to the kitchen, where Alfred, distressed at the state of his primary domain, was working to clean up. "Ah - hello, young lady," he said, letting none of his confusion show at the sight of a girl he did not recognize in the mansion.

"You must be Penny- Mr. Pennyworth."

"Indeed, I am."

"Damian talks about you sometimes. In that condescending, rambly way that means he actually likes you a lot."

"Are you a friend of his, then, young miss?"

"Yeah." She held out a hand to shake. "I'm Maya Ducard. I came to bring Goliath back, and see how Damian's doing."

"It is lovely to meet you. I'm afraid I must apologize for the state of the house, I've been indisposed for some time..."

"No problem. Hey, take it easy, you look kind of pale- I just came in to see if there are any snacks."

"I'm afraid the refrigerator is in a deplorable state at the moment, but I will find you something momentarily, Miss Ducard."

Meanwhile, Stephanie had reached Dick's room. She found Wally West sitting on the floor, letting Peter examine him as he watched John, who was glaring back and hissing a little from under the desk. She could hear Dick rummaging around in the bathroom through the half-open door, and Jack's tearful fussing.

"Heeeeyyy, baby birds, what's up!"

"It's Loud Shiny!" Dick cheered from the bathroom.

"Loud Shiny?!"

 _"Loud Shiny!"_ Peter echoed with his hands at the same time, and ran to hug her.

"Baby Jay! Hah, is that my sign name?" Stephanie cuddle-hugged and gobble-kissed Peter for as long as he allowed her to, which was about seven seconds.

 _"Bad Laugh Man come eat us!"_ Peter told her.

"He ate you?! But you look pretty un-eaten to me, Petey!"

 _"He angry, bad boys tie hit cold, we birds! I DON'T LIKE IT!"_

Stephanie looked at Wally in confusion, who shrugged and admitted, "I don't know much sign language."

Dick came out of the bathroom, holding Jack by the hand. The little boy, along with Peter, was now dressed properly in clothes that Wally had fetched, but John under the desk was not in a mood to allow himself to be changed out of his tie-dye shirt. Jack raised his free hand to chew on his freshly-bandaged thumb again. "Aw, crap... Wally, can you either find Alfred and ask him if we have any chew fidgets, or find something better than Jack's thumb for him to chomp on?"

"Will do!" There was a blur of red and a whoosh of air.

"Hhe gg'one!" Peter exclaimed in surprise, and John shrieked at the shock of it as Jack hid his face against Dick and clutched him.

"Yeah, he's a speedster, they do that," Dick said soothingly. "It's okay, baby birds, you're safe."

"Dick...Bruce didn't hit them or anything, did he?" Stephanie asked.

"Not as far as I know. Apparently they saw him in the Batsuit and are now convinced he's the devil incarnate, and they keep mixing up the past and present." He explained some more, making repeated moves to block Jack from chewing on his thumb and then wincing when the frustrated little boy bit him instead.

"Jackiiieee, don't bite people!" Stephanie exclaimed, leaping up to look for the first aid kit in the bathroom. She halted and stared at the mess - the floor was covered with random things that should have been in cabinets, most of them kicked aside to make little trails, and there was packaging from medical supplies strewn everywhere. She shook her head to refocus herself and picked up the kit, which was already sitting open. "You're running low on bandages," she said when she came out.

"Tell me about it. I think I'm going to need to start wearing armor under my clothes, too," Dick said ruefully, looking at the bleeding bite.

In the kitchen, Alfred gasped and Maya shrieked in surprise when Wally skidded to a stop. "Hey, so! One of the kids is chewing on his thumb with, like, Jaws teeth and bleeding everywhere; Dick sent me to ask if there are any...I forgot what he called them...something better to chew on?"

"Hmm." Alfred gathered a collection of temporary possibilities, then laid a hand on Wally's arm. "Mr. West, if you feel up to doing us a great favor..."

"Anything," Wally said at once. "Dick sounded like a mess on the phone, so I came to do whatever I can to help."

"I would go myself," Alfred said apologetically, "but I've been ill, and I-"

"You need me to go shopping?"

"Well...yes, actually."

"Cool! I'll be there and back in a flash!" (Maya groaned.) "Just tell me what you need."

Alfred wrote out a list (Wally zipped around the kitchen as he waited and ended up eating over half of the remaining food - Alfred smiled and added yet more items to be purchased). Then he handed it to the speedster along with a roll of cash.

Wally stared. "Wow...your handwriting's super-fancy."

"Can you read it?" Maya asked, sounding amused.

"I can read it! I..." Wally squinted at the list. "Ohhhh, those are 'R's. Yeah, I can read it! Be right back!" He zoomed out.

In Dick's room, Peter slammed the door shut, then shrieked when it blasted open again seconds later. "Chew stuff!" Wally announced, setting a basket in front of Dick. "Gah, you guys made more blood while I was gone!"

"This is why I called for help," Dick said ruefully.

"Well, no worries, Grayson! You got me and you got Steph here, and Alfred and some random girl in the kitchen; we'll get through this with teamwork! I'm going shopping now."

"Random girl?" Dick said in confusion, but Wally was already gone.

" _crooooow_!" John shouted in a rage.

"Johnny, what's wrong?" Stephanie asked soothingly, moving toward the desk. "Does all that speedster stuff bother you?"

 _"EAT! KILL! MEAT!"_

She swallowed nervously at his violent signing.

"Steph," Dick asked, weary, "you think you could dig up some breakfast for us? It's been a while since we've eaten."

Stephanie soon came back with a basket. "There wasn't really much breakfast-type stuff," she said apologetically, "the kitchen's almost as much a mess as your bathroom is, but I _did_ find food! It's just kind of random."

"Random food is still food, thanks," Dick said gratefully.

"Speaking of random, Wally was right - who's she?" Stephanie asked, showing the quick photo she'd snapped.

"Ohhh - that's Maya, one of Damian's friends. I wonder if that means Goliath's back, too... She was supposed to be looking after him after he was Joker-poisoned." They were occupied for a while, trying to feed the birds. Peter ate with relish, asking for one morsel at a time even though no one was bothering to enforce the system, but Jack was still a nervous wreck and had to be coaxed for every bite, and John refused to eat at all.

"Johnny, I _know_ you're hungry," Dick said. "Come on, just a few bites."

"Ha ha ha ha ha, _I want meat!"_

"Well... There are some cold-cuts here, I-" Dick managed to dodge a bite in time. "No! No alive meat, John, that is gross and mean!"

"Ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha!" Stephanie shuddered at the laughter, and John got so violent that Dick had to put him in a restraining hold. The boy screamed and writhed, his distress making Jack cry. Stephanie held the youngest bird and tried to soothe him.

Peter, after peering at his brother for a minute, looked away dismissively and continued eating. Since none of the big people were paying attention to him, he had to ask himself for each morsel, grabbing what he wanted from the food Stephanie had spread out on a sheet. _"Please give me cheese! Good boy, [caw], eat cheese. Please give me cereal! Good boy, [caw], eat cereal..."_

Wally soon returned and tracked down Alfred, who was determinedly trying to get the house back in order (Maya, rather worried about how hard the old man was working when he looked like he needed to be resting, was helping him). "I got everything on the list! Put 'em all away already, too, and here's your change. You need anything else?"

"No, I believe Master Dick needs your assistance more than I do." Alfred smiled at Maya to acknowledge that her presence made extra helpers unnecessary.

"All right, cool. I'll bring you back the dirty plates and stuff if they've finished." Wally zoomed to Dick's room, paused at the sign on the closed door saying that speedster rushing disturbed John and Jack, and guiltily cracked open the door at normal speed. "Dick...?"

"You're back!" his friend cried, sounding worryingly relieved.

Wally came in to find John still angrily lurking under the desk, Jack still clinging to Dick, and Stephanie tidying up the bathroom. Peter trotted up to Wally and asked, "Ffoo'dd?"

"You're still hungry?" Wally laughed. "Man after my own heart! I'll bring you more in a minute. Dick, look what I found!" He waved a package. "I bought two packages of three, because I don't think they'll last too long with teeth like that."

"Perfect, thanks," Dick said immediately, reaching.

Wally impulsively ripped open the package at super-speed before handing it over, then gulped. "Oops - I'm sorry, Dick, I forgot."

"It's okay. It's more the running that bothers them, the blur and the wind and papers flying around."

"No running in front of baby birds, got it."

While Dick wearily introduced a chew fidget to Jack, who immediately started chomping on it, Wally went to get more food for Peter, then sat in the hall to speed-read the ASL book he'd bought along with the groceries. He bounced in a few minutes later and eagerly tried out on Peter, _"Hello! My name is W-a-l-l-y, happy meet you!"_

Peter stared. _"Hand person?! You say no!"_

"He's surprised you went from being a non-signer to knowing ASL in two seconds," Dick translated.

 _"I FAST! I talk mouth, buy book, learn QUICK, now talk hands!"_

"Ggoo'dd bboy," Peter praised.

To be continued...

 **A/N: See AO3 for Medli art!**

I finally caught up on my timeline, and have been working to collect and type some of the stray notes, but I'm still very far from being organized. I've really been itching to write more baby birds, though, so I drafted this chapter as soon as the timeline was done. Again, I don't know when the next update will be; maybe this chapter will tide me over long enough to get my notes cleaned up...?

I've been planning for a while to bring in Goliath & Maya at the first opportunity (though I have no idea if Maya will stay for a while or leave soon), but it only recently occurred to me that, with most of the family incapacitated and Bruce now on such bad terms with the birds, poor Dick needs help (gave me a chance to bring back Steph, which I've also been hoping to do for a while now), and Wally's arrival was _completely_ unplanned. I have no idea if I'm getting Wally's characterization right or not, I've only seen him in _Young Justice_ and brief scattered appearances in the comics.

As far as I could tell, the hand sign for "fast" and "quick" looked the same, but the mouthing was a little different (echoing the respective English words).


	46. Chapter 45

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 45 (rough draft)**

A/N: I forgot to include in the previous chapter that Dick explained about Goliath to Steph & Wally.

o.o.o

Even though Dick had gotten some sleep, he still felt exhausted and too heartsick to keep working with the desperate little birds. Almost as soon as Wally and Stephanie assured him that they'd keep an eye on the children, particularly on John, Dick curled up on his bed for a hopefully more restful nap. Jack practically wedged himself into the shelter of his big brother's body and soon fell asleep as well, leaking snot and a few tears and a bit of drool onto Dick's shirt.

"I think we need to get out of this room," Stephanie suggested. "Babies! Let's go play outside!"

 _"Bad Laugh Man outside!"_ Peter exclaimed, and John, who was finally allowing Wally to maneuver him into a pair of shorts, had zero reaction, but the second bird did follow Stephanie when she made a show of leaving. He peered suspiciously up and down the hall for a while, then darted out and latched onto the teen.

She laughed and patted him. "All clear, kiddo!"

"Sssshhh, ccarr'ffuh, ccarr'ffuh," he cautioned, pushing Stephanie along and sticking close to the wall. Wally followed, carrying a limp John on his back.

They made it to the back yard without incident, where Peter immediately dashed to hide under a mass of honeysuckle, giggling a little. Stephanie played with him, sneaking from bush to bush, as Wally sat on the grass holding a tearfully cuddly John and trying valiantly to not be bored. "No one even _could_ hurt you," he coaxed. "You saw how super-fast I am, right? Even if a bad guy jumped out of the trees right this minute, I'd be like _whoosh!_ and then they'd be tied up waiting for the cops long before they could touch you."

John kept clinging and said nothing.

"Don't you want to play with Peter and Stephanie over there? They look like they're having fun~"

John slowly turned his face up. His searching expression broke Wally's heart.

"Never mind, it's okay, I'm definitely not trying to get rid of you! If you just want to sit here and hug for an hour, then we'll sit here and hug for an hour."

John relaxed slightly and turned his face back into Wally's shirt.

"...We can watch a movie or something while we hug, though!" Wally suggested desperately. He would go crazy if he didn't have something to pass the time. Luckily, even though John showed no interest in the cartoon Wally pulled up on his phone, he didn't seem to mind it, either.

A hulking shape moved through the trees. Stephanie and Wally froze, hoping that the children wouldn't be frightened and that Dick had been right when he'd said that Goliath wouldn't hurt a fly except to protect his loved ones.

"DD _O_ 'GGIE! RRRE'DD DDO'GGIE!" Peter shrieked in such delight that John actually shifted to see what he was so excited about. Peter ran right up to Goliath, who lowered his head to sniff at him curiously, and made grabby hands. "Rrre'dd ddoggie!"

"That's a big red doggie, all right," Stephanie laughed, coming up to stroke the dragon-bat. "Ooohh, you really are a sweetheart, aren'tcha, Clifford."

John actually _got up_ and _went over_ to the newcomer. He laid both hands on Goliath's face for a minute. The great beast very gently closed his claws around John, cradled him for a moment like a precious treasure, then lifted him up to his shoulder, where John scrambled onto his back.

"Mmemmemememeeee!" Peter insisted, and was picked up as well. "SSSEPH! SSSEPH! LLLOO'KK, MMY DDOGGIE!"

"I think he's actually Damian's doggie, but it looks like he doesn't mind being borrowed!"

Peter rode around on the dragon-bat for about twenty minutes, then slithered off and went to hunt for bugs. John lay there on the thick red fur and felt the sun warm on his skin and wished idly that there was a way to die like this, so soft and peaceful. He lay there until he fell asleep, and he continued to lie there after he woke up, and he hoped that Big Red would bite off Master's head when Master came back to hurt them.

o.o.o.o.o

Dick did feel a little better when he woke up. He looked at Jack and frowned, since the boy was breathing heavily as he slept, and half his face was crusted with snot and drool. "What a mess, baby bird," he started to murmur affectionately, then froze at the heat of Jack's skin under his hand. He fetched the thermometer from his bathroom and was dismayed to find that Jack's temperature was too high. "Oh nooo, Jackie...!"

He hurried out of the room, intending to let the rest of the family know and hunt down some food or juice or something, and nearly shrieked when he found Tim sprawled in the hall. "Timmy, what are you _doing_?!"

"M' feet hurt at work," the teenager slurred.

Dick went to pick him up and found that his skin was too hot, his eyes glazed. "Gah, both Timmys are sick!" He carried Tim to his room and put him back in bed.

"Compu'er. Big meeting," Tim moaned.

" _No_ , Timothy. Bruce is at work, he's taking care of everything, so you just rest, okay?"

"'M okay. Timmy good t'go."

"And I think you're not quite sober yet, either..."

Tim squinted, his gaze growing a little sharper but more pained. "...Dick?"

"What's up?"

"Gotta...pee... Drive me t'work...w' coffee..."

"Okay, work and coffee, no, but pee, yes. Here, I've got you."

Tim was all but unconscious by the time he'd finished using the toilet, and Dick once again carried him to bed. Then he headed toward the kitchen. On the way, he passed Alfred, who was pushing a large wheeled trash can toward the garage. Maya came up and set a smaller bag of trash inside the can. "This was from that bathroom down the hall."

"Thank you, my dear. That should be the last of it."

"Alfred," Dick said, "both Tims are sick. Should I give them anything other than a lot to drink and whatever food they can stomach?"

"Oh dear," Alfred said, looking very worried. Tim had always been more susceptible to illness than his brothers were, and his chronic lack of sleep and proper food certainly didn't help. "I'll go take a look at them in just a moment. In the meantime, perhaps you'd better check on the other children... I'm afraid they likely caught it from me, and Master John spent quite a lot of time with me while I was ill."

Dick exclaimed in dismay and hurried outside. Peter looked frustrated as he argued with Stephanie and Wally ("Rrrun ffass't, Sseph! _Run away from Bad Laugh Man!"_ ), but physically fine. John had apparently decided that Goliath was his new bed, and did not respond to Dick's calls, so Dick had to climb up after him. The man couldn't tell if John's skin was hot from fever or from the sun, and the boy looked increasingly angry as he kept pushing his big brother away. Dick finally sighed and slid back down again. "Goliath, let us know if John needs help, okay?"

"Reeeouh."

o.o.o.o.o

Damian woke up a little before eleven o'clock. There was a wheelchair sitting next to his bed, which he found highly offensive until he discovered how much it hurt to move. Still, he was a Wayne and an al Ghul, so he forced through the pain and made himself get out of bed, at which point he promptly collapsed. "Of all the thrice-cursed, insufferable things...!"

By the time he made it to the wheelchair, he was shaky and almost... _almost_ grateful to be able to hoist himself into it. Then he gritted his teeth and straightened up and wheeled himself to the bathroom, determined to get through his ablutions without assistance.

He eventually made it out of his room, and found a speedster, of all people, in the living room when he passed it, playing checkers with Peter. "The elder Wallace West," he noted.

"Hi, Damian," Wally said with a nod. "You want to play next?"

"Ddami, Ii wwin ccoo'kkie!" Peter proclaimed, waving a fistful of black game pieces at Damian that he had captured from his opponent.

"He calls them 'cookies,'" Wally laughed. "It's adorable."

"Where are the other children?"

"Well, apparently Jackie's sick, and also Tim, so Dick's mother henning them both, and Steph's keeping an eye on Johnny."

"Wait, Richard is here? _Brown_ is here?"

"Oh, man, you've been out for a while, haven't you! Yeah, so, last night, apparently the kiddos saw Bruce being Batman and completely freaked out, Dick came to help but he's super stressed out now because the babies are so upsetthattheystartedself-harming, orJackdidbutPeter'sactuallymostlyokayandJohnny'sonsuicidewatch-"

"Pay attention, West. Todd is stealing your 'cookies.'"

Wally looked down at the board. "Peter?! You sneaked some of my pieces?!"

"Nnnooo, [ _caw_ ] ggoo'd bboy!" Peter giggled.

Damian, troubled and not sure what to make of Wally's news, wheeled away and mulled over the information as he continued on to the kitchen. Then he forgot what he was thinking about, because he was both delighted and concerned to discover that his grandfather was out of bed. "Pennyworth, what are you doing?!"

"I should have thought that would be obvious," Alfred said dryly, adding some freshly-diced celery to a pot on the stove.

"No, I mean- Ducard?! What are _you_ doing here?!"

"Siphoning some of your inheritance money," Maya said without missing a beat, stirring something in a different pot. "I've been doing housework all morning, so Alfred said he'd pay me. Your dad's rich, so it'll be a lot."

"Where's Goliath?"

"Outside. Hey, why didn't you tell me you've got new siblings? I think I have a right to know when my little brother gets little brothers."

"You're as obnoxious as ever, Ducard."

"At least I'm ambulatory."

"Shut up," he mumbled, his face turning red as he fidgeted in his wheelchair. "Pennyworth, I am pleased to see you in better health." Forgetting that he was hungry, he backed out of the kitchen and wheeled to the main back sliding door, grateful for the first time that the manor had been made wheelchair-accessible thanks to Barbara Gordon's years as a paraplegic.

Outdoors, he found his largest animal friend napping under the trees, with Stephanie lounging on his back and watching something on her phone as she absently petted John. "Goliath," Damian called, wheeling down the ramp from the terrace.

The dragon-bat opened his eyes and rose carefully so as not to dislodge his passengers, padding over to lick Damian's face.

"Yes, I'm glad to see you, too, you disgusting creature," Damian said happily, wiping the slimy dragon drool off his face. "How are you feeling? No lingering effects from the toxin?"

Goliath vocalized, and Damian checked over his eyes and mouth, then patted his furry cheek. "I'm glad to see you well again, my friend." He looked at the others.

"Wanna watch [*censored because FFN is stupid*] with us?" Stephanie offered, patting the fur beside her.

"I have better things to do with my time than waste it with cartoons, Brown."

"Hey, don't diss everyone's favorite [*censored because FFN is stupid*]!"

Damian frowned at John in concern. "Grayson, are you ill?" There was no response. Damian signaled Goliath, who carefully helped him up onto his back. "Grayson. Grayson, I'm talking to you."

John's eyeballs finally rolled in Damian's direction, but he did not otherwise move.

Damian leaned closer to peer at him. "He's pale, and his skin is too hot, and he's leaking." He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and gently dabbed the boy's upper lip clean. John blinked slowly.

"He won't get off of Goliath so we can check him over properly," Stephanie explained. "We figured we'd let him mope in peace until lunch. I've been giving him water as often as he'll take it."

"Hmmm." Lunch sounded pretty good. Damian fluffed out John's sweat-sticky hair to cool him down a bit, then went about the painful process of descending back into his wheelchair. "Goliath, Brown, take care of him."

Goliath rumbled, and Stephanie rolled her eyes at the implication that she wouldn't unless instructed. "Sir, yes, sir."

When the soup was ready, Wally was sent to see if Cassandra and Duke wanted to join them. Both had recently awakened; Duke said he'd be down soon, and Cassandra, who'd been drowsing off and on throughout the morning, held up her arms in a request to be carried.

"My pleasure, milady!"

She giggled when they arrived in the dining room literally a second later. "Fast."

"Yup. Flash-fast." He carefully set her in a chair.

"Cass!" Dick exclaimed when he came in. "How're you feeling?"

"Okay."

"How are you _really_ feeling?"

"...Hurts," she admitted. " _Little_ hurt. I am okay." Which, in Cassandra-speak, meant she was in a lot of pain but was enduring it in order to focus on things she cared more about. "Children?"

"Not so good."

He explained what had happened the night before, and Cassandra's eyes grew shadowed. "Bad."

"Yeah, I know it's a mess. Maybe you can help Steph with John? I'm going to stay with Jack, he's too sick to haul him all the way over here." Dick brought a covered bowl of soup and some bread to his room, where Jack was miserably huddled in bed. Maya was reading to him as Peter carefully dripped water into his mouth from the cup on the bedside table. "Hey, baby birds," Dick said gently. "Brought you some lunch."

" _crow_ ~!" Peter cheered.

"Ddi'ckkie," Jack whimpered, then signed, _"Feel bad."_

"I know you're sick, baby bird. You have to drink a lot so you'll get better sooner, okay? And look, this is soup, so it's like eating and drinking at the same time."

When Peter saw that Dick was looking after their little brother, he allowed Maya to lead him off to the dining room. They sat down with the injured people and started eating, but trouble was brewing outside, where Duke, Stephanie, and Wally were struggling with John. "Come on, Johnny, it's time for lunch," Stephanie coaxed. "Aren't you hungry?"

The boy ignored them at first, then started crowing and struggling when they tried to physically pull him down. "Dude, come on," Duke said. "Dragon-Clifford needs a break, too."

John still stubbornly clung to fistfuls of red fur, looking like he was gearing up to be tortured.

"He's got a runny nose like Jack does," Wally said worriedly. "I think he _is_ sick."

Damian came to the terrace and called, "What's the holdup?"

"We can't get John down!" Stephanie called back.

"Grayson, release Goliath at once!"

The command had as much of an effect as expected, so Damian addressed the dragon-bat himself. "Goliath, I have prepared a meal for you in the Batcave."

The creature's ears perked up, and he immediately headed toward the cave. Wally made sure that he was out of John's line of sight and then raced to get there ahead of them, where he found that there was, indeed, a large tub of what was probably dragon food. After a little while, Goliath lumbered in with the others trailing after him, went straight to the tub, and plunged his head into it. John, still curled up on his back, looked unperturbed by all the movement.

"Johnny. Come on, kiddo; Goliath's got his lunch, so let's get some lunch for you, too."

They ended up having to drag John off of the animal by force, and Goliath stopped eating to peer at the screaming child in concern until the elevator doors closed. Duke and the others got John upstairs and released him just past the threshold of the dining room. He immediately crawled to hide behind the nearest credenza.

[ _caw_ ] rushed to him. _"[chirp-chirp] okay?!"_

 _"Master tie me, poison me, bad meat bad meat bad meat..."_

 _"No Bat poison meat,"_ [ _caw_ ] assured him. _"Good food! Bat come, I eat him!"_

 _"Master hurt me...hurt me..."_

[ _caw_ ] checked to see if Bat had sneaked up on him in case [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was right, but there was no Bat, only the big people. So [ _caw_ ] went to get some good bread and pushed it under the big wood thing, and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] ate it. The big people were very happy. [ _caw_ ] brought more and more, and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] ate that, too, and someone put a bowl of 'soup' on the floor.

 _'Thank God for Peter,'_ Stephanie thought. They were all more or less eating now, keeping an eye on the birds and giving Peter bits of food to slip to John. It was horrible to see John crawl to the bowl of soup and lower his head to lap at it like an animal, but at least he was _eating_ it, which was an improvement from before Peter had gotten involved.

Meanwhile, Dick was feeding Jack, and had gotten about half the bowl of soup into him when the little boy suddenly made a choking sound and then threw up. Jack burst into tears.

"Oh nooo, Jackie...!" He cleaned up the boy, who wanted to be held and would sob whenever Dick tried to put him down. "Jackie, I have to clean up the bed and the floor, too..." He had to call for help. Alfred soon arrived, but the old man looked so tired and shaky when he tried to kneel to scrub the carpet that Dick had to interfere. "Aw, man, Alfred, no, you're still recovering. Let me work on the floor, I just need you to hold Jack."

Alfred protested, and did end up cleaning the floor while Dick moved Jack into the children's own room, but by the time the butler trudged back from disposing of the soiled rags, he looked exhausted.

"Alfred," Dick called when he heard footsteps in the hall, and a minute later, the butler peered in. "Can you hold Jack, just for a minute? I need a break."

"Very well, Master Dick, but I need to finish work in your room."

"Yeah, it's just for a minute. I'll come right back, I swear." Jack fussed when he was transferred, but then buried his face in Alfred's shirt and went still. Once Dick had slipped out, he went back to his own room, glad that there were some windows already open but raising the rest to help air out the smell faster. He took his time changing the sheets and tidying up, and by the time he peeked into the birds' room again, he was glad to find that Alfred and Jack had fallen asleep together. _'Perfect.'_

He went to fetch lunch for Tim and grab a bite to eat for himself while he was at it. In the dining room, he found everyone weirdly oriented, like the central point of interest was by the wall rather than the center of the table. This was, he discovered when he looked around, because they were helping Peter feed his brother as if John was a skittish stray cat. "...Okay."

"He's sick, and he hates us, and he wouldn't eat until Peter started bringing him stuff," Stephanie explained.

"What a little dick," Dick quipped, only half-joking. It _bothered_ him that John was apparently refusing help when he clearly needed it, it bothered him that he was isolating himself, and it bothered him that-

With no warning or provocation, John, having licked up about an eighth of the serving, hurled the bowl of soup away from him and retreated farther behind the credenza. Everyone stared in exasperation. Only Peter took it in stride, twittering questioningly. John screeched back, suddenly threw up, cried for exactly one second, then started screaming for no discernible reason.

"...Right, well, I just had my turn cleaning up vomit, so I'm gonna let you all deal with _that_ while I go feed Tim," Dick said. He felt, while he was loading a tray, like a robot was using his body at the moment. The feeling dissipated when he was almost to Tim's room, and he couldn't go in to feed his brother until his eyes stopped stinging with unshed tears.

To be continued...


	47. Chapter 46

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Stuff I forgot to include in the previous chapter [5 July 2018] (rough draft)**

Dick felt bad waking up Tim, but then Tim got all cuddly and that was kind of nice. "Got some lunch for you, Timmy."

"Hungry..."

"Yeah, that's why I brought it."

"Want coffee."

"Hmmmm." The non-committal noise was apparently enough to make Tim forget to keep asking, and a few quiet minutes passed. Tim passively opened his mouth for the first few bites, but then grumbled and reached to feed himself. His progress was slooooow, but at least he didn't drop the spoon.

"My feet hurt," Tim finally said after a long time.

"I know. That's because a giant flower tried to eat you."

Tim shuddered.

"You want some bread, Timmy?"

"Yeah," Tim said shyly, sounding almost exactly like Jack for a moment.

"I love you, Timmy," Dick tried on impulse.

"I love you, too, Dickie."

Dick valiantly suppressed his squee, glad that he had thought to take advantage of the situation while he still could.

Tim ate until he fell asleep again, and Dick took the leftovers back to the kitchen, then looked in on the dining room, where people seemed to be trying to coax something ( _'John, Johnny, always Johnny,'_ Dick thought wearily) out of the cabinet of a different credenza. "What's he doing this time?"

"We're trying to get this sick baby to bed where he can _rest_."

"Move." Dick nudged them all aside and reached into the cabinet, grinning mirthlessly when sharp teeth sank into the layer of armor he'd put on. "Not this time, kiddo. Up."

John, though still tense, went still at the word, but in the bedroom hall when he realized he was being carried to his room, he started to struggle again.

"John, seriously, cut it out." He hoisted the boy over his shoulder to get a better grip on him, and barely flinched when John vengefully vomited down his back. The boy didn't have much in his stomach to bring up, but it was still disgusting. "That's not going to work."

Then the furious screaming started. Dick sighed, backed away from the children's room, and headed for a guest room instead. Jack was miserable enough, he didn't deserve to have someone shrieking in his ear on top of being ill.

Alfred stumbled out into the hall a moment later, awakened by the noise. He looked around at Dick struggling with John, a distressed-looking Wally carrying an even more distressed-looking Cassandra on his back, and Stephanie letting an unhappy-looking Peter cling to her hand. "Mr. West, if you will kindly get Mistress Cassandra to the wheelchair in her room, she can watch over Master Jack, if that is amenable to her." He asked Cassandra directly in words that were easier for her to understand, and she nodded in agreement. There wasn't much she could do when she could barely walk and there were so many other people around. "If someone else would be so good as to fetch some cleaning supplies, I will take care of the carpet."

"Duke already went to get them."

"Ssseph," Peter whispered, "[ _chirp-chirp_ ] sscc'arre."

"What's he scared of, Petey?"

"Bba'ttmmann. Bba'dd mmmea'tt."

"Bad meat? He doesn't have to eat any meat at all, Peter. And Batman's not here right now."

 _"Good,"_ Peter chirped.

John absolutely refused to stay in bed. He screamed and fought and, dizzy from his illness, bumped his head hard against the nightstand while attempting to get away from his tormentor. Dick paused guiltily, then had to grab him again to stop him from wriggling under the bed. "Nope, no, we're not going to do that. Someone block off the underside of the bed." Wally jumped to obey, glad to have something useful to do. Stephanie kept trying to coax Peter away, but the boy insisted on staying, watching his brother carefully.

Thwarted, John started straining toward the desk instead, and Dick hesitantly released him. The boy crawled a short way, then swayed and fell over onto his side. He whimpered once and then was quiet.

Everyone stared for a minute. Then Dick tried to pick him up again, but that only prompted John to resume the screaming and clawing. The child was an absolute mess, with his tangled hair falling out of its braid and snot smeared all over his face and soup stains on his clothes. "What is _wrong_ with you?!" Dick cried in utter exasperation.

"Hey, man, look," Wally said gently, "he's obviously not going to stay in bed even if we make him lie down. You want to see if maybe he'll feel better on a couch or something?"

Dick thrust his younger self into Wally's arms and then lay on the floor in defeat. Wally ruffled his hair affectionately before carrying John away. After a minute, Duke approached with a set of clean clothes. "You want to change straight into them, or shower first?"

"I think I want to shut myself in a small enclosure and maybe scream into the water, yeah..."

In the living room, John wouldn't stay on the couch, either, but at least he'd stopped screaming. He pushed Wally away and started to climb a large, sturdy shelf, ignoring the items he dislodged. "Whoa, Johnny, no, let's not do that!" John started yelling and struggling and throwing things. Finally, Wally rushed to get everything off the shelf, and the super-speed didn't bother John this time. The boy hauled himself up, his illness-weakened limbs shaking with the effort, until he managed to get to the top shelf, which was wide enough for him to lie down on.

For a long minute, Wally stared up at the boy, who was quiet and finally looked half-relaxed as he gave in to his exhaustion. Then the speedster shook his head, murmured, "Oh, Dickie," and started speed-hauling a mattress and as many spare pillows as he could find to arrange below the shelves and cushion a potential fall. He duct-taped more cushioning to the edges of the shelves, then sat back on a couch, determined to catch Johnny, if necessary, before he got anywhere near the floor.

Peter, who had followed and watched closely, now stepped back in satisfaction and cheerfully asked Stephanie to go with him to "Pplllay wwif rre'dd ddoggie."

*late afternoon*

When Dick peeked in to check on him, he found Tim conscious and lying in a dramatic sprawl across the bed. "My head hurts," Tim whined, "and I'm nauseous."

"Ooohh, 'nauseous'! You really are feeling better."

Tim wrinkled his nose in confusion. "I just told you I feel like crap."

"Yeah, but you're using big boy words like 'nauseous' now, so that's an improvement."

"What? I don't even remember being conscious." He was disconcerted by how much Dick laughed.

*a little later*

"I had an awful dream that I was trying to go to work, but this horrible gorilla kept grabbing me and dragging me away."

"Oh - actually, that was real. I was the gorilla."

Tim groaned. "Figures."

 _ **The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 46 (rough draft)**

 _"I still haven't found him, but I did discover something interesting,"_ Barbara said over the phone. _"There are other people who haven't been seen or heard from for about as long as Jason has, and those people are Roy Harper, Starfire, Artemis of Bana-Mighdall, and Bizarro."_

"All the Outlaws, both past and present," Bruce realized. "Does it seem like they need help?"

 _"I don't know. No one saw Roy or Starfire vanish or anything, it's that they fell out of contact with no explanation, just like Jason did. The others are harder to track, all I have to go on for them are sightings in the news and social media. There haven't been any mentions of them or new photographs for at least as long as the original Outlaws have been missing."_

"So nothing is narrowed down," Bruce said in frustration. For all he knew, Jason could be anywhere from a prison in Qurac to a planet halfway across the galaxy, or worse. "Let me know _as soon_ as you come across anything more useful."

 _"You know I will, Bruce. How are the kids?"_

"...I suppose I'm about to find out." Bruce hung up and reached the house soon afterward, then just sat there for a long time after turning off the car. He was _so tired_ , and he'd had a headache for the past several hours. It had been so difficult to concentrate at work, both his secretary and Lucius had asked him if he wasn't feeling well. Of course he'd brushed them off, but...honestly, he _wasn't_ feeling well. _'Doesn't matter. There's still work to do. Get up.'_

The first thing he did was consult his tracker program, which showed Tim and Jack in their rooms, Cassandra with Jack, Dick and John in the living room, and everyone else in the kitchen, probably helping prepare dinner. Bruce slipped past them without attracting notice and very cautiously peered into the living room. Then he just stared.

One of the shelves had been emptied and covered with padding, presumably in case John fell off. The child, however, was perfectly still and balanced despite being asleep at the very top. _'Like a cat,'_ Bruce thought incredulously. "Dick..."

Dick and Wally were playing a video game, both of them uncharacteristically subdued. Dick in particular was limp and slumped low as if exhausted or depressed or both. "He wouldn't get down," Dick reported flatly, his eyes still on the screen. "Little brat is sick as a dog but threw a fit when we tried to put him to bed, wouldn't stop screaming. Finally just _left_ him up there on the frickin' shelf."

"I'll catch him if he falls," Wally said quietly.

Bruce took a few steps into the room and continued to stare. "He's sick _and_ asleep, how is he not falling off...?"

"Bruce, I am so sorry for making you raise me," Dick said sincerely.

Bruce looked at him and smiled a little. Young Dick had never fallen asleep on a shelf, but there were plenty of other similar shenanigans that had made Bruce's life as a new parent quite interesting. "It was worth it." He stepped over to a couch farther away from the TV and sank onto it with a weary groan.

"Tired?" Dick asked.

"Just going to rest my eyes for a few minutes..."

When Bruce woke, it was dark, he was covered with a blanket and alone in the room, and the entertainment center's clock proclaimed that it was nearly midnight. Bruce cursed and fought his way out of the blanket, disconcerted to find himself dizzy when he stood up. The headache had receded to an ignorable level, but now he felt a little nauseous. _'Patrol, who's on patrol, who's watching the birds...?'_

The light of his phone screen hurt his eyes, though it was a little better when he turned on a lamp. According to the trackers, Jack, Cassandra, and Tim had not moved; Alfred was in his suite; Dick and Stephanie were out in the city; and everyone else was in the Batcave.

Bruce hurried downstairs. Duke was on a side-monitor of the Batcomputer, presumably to give some privacy to Damian and Maya, who had the cat in her lap. Damian, idly stroking Titus with one foot, was acting as primary tech support, but things were slow at the moment and he was laughing at something Maya had just said. Peter was curled up asleep on Goliath's back, John wrapped protectively around him with heavy-lidded but conscious eyes.

"Oh - hello, Father."

"Is Alfred all right?"

"Yes. He went to bed early, since we have the computer covered tonight."

"Good. Where's Flash?"

"He went to patrol with Nightwing and Spoiler. Are you going out?"

"Yes," Bruce said shortly, heading straight for the changing area. He ignored John's frightened, angry glare and hiss as he passed, but halfway through getting dressed, he looked up to find John on the threshold. The boy had his feet planted wide apart, his fists clenched, his teeth bared in outrage. "Go back to bed, John," Bruce snapped.

 _"Bat Man."_

"Yes. This is the sign for 'Batman,'" he added, demonstrating.

John cocked his head suspiciously.

"I am not going to hurt you, I will not touch you, I will not come near you. Go to bed."

 _"...Bad Laugh Man."_

"No," Bruce said angrily.

 _"Bat Man, Batman."_

"I am Bruce, and I am Batman, but I am NOT the Batman Who Laughs. Laughs hurt you, but he is dead now. I am a different person, and I'm Batman to _help_ people like you, not hurt them."

John continued to watch silently, and Bruce finished getting dressed. The boy dashed out of the way when Bruce came striding out, but slunk after him and watched balefully as Bruce began double-checking his equipment.

 _"...You hurt [caw], I kill you."_

"I am not going to hurt Peter."

 _"Birds fly away. You angry."_

"Yes, I am angry, but I'm not going to punish you for trying to run away."

This seemed to enrage John. He charged to attack Bruce, but his bare hands and even his fangs had no effect on the combat-tough Batsuit.

"Not now, John," Bruce snapped. "Go _away_."

" _crow_! _crow_! _You hurt bad birds!"_

"No. Go away."

 _"Bad birds fly, you catch birds tie hit hurt hate birds!"_

"No! Leave me alone!"

 _"YOU HURT FLY AWAY BIRDS."_

Bruce wanted to tear out his hair in frustration, and reminded himself that the children couldn't distinguish between anger at them and anger at what they'd been reduced to because of their suffering. "John, I won't let you run away from the manor, but I will _never_ hit you, even if you try to escape again."

John ripped off his shirt and turned his badly scarred back to Bruce, glaring fiercely. He didn't need words for the message to be clear: _"Then why did you beat me for it before?"_

Bruce, already sickened, realized with a jolt that the lash scar on John's cheek, because of the way his head was angled, matched up perfectly with one that sliced diagonally up his back. He must have once looked over his shoulder while he was being whipped, and the evidence of that one brief, agonized moment was now etched on his flesh forever.

Bruce reached out a shaking hand in an impulsive attempt to cover the scars, as if his hand could reach back through time to block the instruments that had inflicted them. John cowered away before he could make contact. "Johnny...I wish I was the one who had been beaten instead of you."

 _"...Birds fly away. You catch us, gentle, play forever, I die."_

Bruce did not know what to make of this statement, especially with the way John's expression had changed from fear and fury to tired resentment. "I don't want you to die. You are safe here."

 _"Batman."_

"Batman is going out into the city, to find people who need help and get them to safety."

John slowly Joker-smiled and chirred sweetly. _"Bring meat to me,"_ he added with his hands. Then he went away to guard Peter again, and Bruce couldn't escape the cave fast enough.

Since the Bat Signal (which was shaped like a proper bat again by now) was shining, Batman made his way over to police headquarters. The intern whose job it was to turn the Signal on and off was hovering near the light, watching Batman warily, but Jim Gordon was nowhere to be seen. The only other person on the roof was a man who was muttering to himself as he tapped away at a tablet. Batman recognized him as Jamie Tippett, one of the Mendez & Holt investigators, but he specialized in online work. The fact that he was out in the field must have meant that Ginger was either occupied with a more urgent assignment or on leave. It also meant that JoAnn, for all her low opinion of Batman, must at least trust him enough to feel that it was safe to send Jamie to interview him.

"Mr. Tippett," Batman said, announcing his presence in a gentler version of his usual growl.

Jamie's head jerked up. "Batman. Batman. Hello, Mr. Batman, my name is Jamie Tippett," he said, advancing and thrusting out his hand to shake rather forcefully. His voice was loud and lacking in intonation. "I am an investigator for the Mendez & Holt Law Firm, I have some questions for you. I need to ask you some questions, please have a seat."

There was nowhere to sit on the roof, but Batman did not point this out. In the background, the intern turned off the Signal and went away. "What are your questions regarding?" Batman asked, having to pretend he didn't know perfectly well that it involved Bruce Wayne's newest foster children.

"Batman, you have to find Batman and ask him these questions. Go to the GCPD and ask them to turn on the Bat Signal. He might not show up because he's a butt, but it's okay, Jamie, just try again tomorrow night."

"I'm here, Mr. Tippett," Batman said patiently. "What are your questions?"

"What are your questions? You have to find Batman and ask him these questions." Jamie tapped at his tablet screen until an audio recording started. "Mr. Batman, do I have your permission to record this interview?"

"You have my permission to make an audio-only recording of this interview, yes."

"Yes. Yes. One, start the recording. Two, ask Batman permission to record the interview. Three, ask him the questions."

"What are your questions?"

"What are your questions? Ask him all the questions, Jamie. These babies need a home."

"Please start the interview," Batman tried.

"Please start the interview. Introduction: Hello, Batman, I am Jamie Tippett from the Mendez & Holt Law Firm. I am meeting with you regarding the children you rescued from the individual known as the Batman Who Laughs."

"Yes," Batman said, at the same time Jamie started to barrel on down his script without pause, "One-" Jamie blinked in confusion, not having expected a response to the introduction.

"What is your first question?" Batman prompted.

"What is your first question...?"

"What is question number one?" Batman tried.

Jamie's face instantly cleared. "What is question number one, how many children did you take from the Batman Who Laughs?"

"I took three living children and one dead child."

"Two, what are the legal names of these children?"

"The names of the living children are Richard John Grayson of Earth -22, Jason Peter Todd of Earth -22, and Timothy Jackson Drake of Earth -22. I was unable to identify the dead child before I lost access to the body."

"Three, who are the biological parents of each child?"

Batman answered that question and the next, which was about the children's cities of birth. Although there was no way to verify, he assumed the boys' pasts were the same as their counterparts' on Prime Earth, and anyway, it didn't matter since Earth -22 was gone forever.

"Five, what is the world of birth for each child?"

Batman repressed a sigh. _'He can't help it. Be patient.'_ "All four children are natives of Earth -22."

"Earth -22. Earth -22." Even though Jamie had been repeating the phrase often, only now did he seem to stumble over it. "Earth-Twenty-Two. Earth-Negative-Twenty-Two. Five, what is the world of birth for each child? All four children are natives of Earth -22. All four children are natives of Earth-NEGATIVE-Twenty-Two. All four children are natives of-?"

"Earth-22 and Earth -22 are different worlds. The children are _not_ from Earth-Twenty-Two. The children are from Earth- _Negative_ -Twenty-Two."

"The children are from Earth- _Negative_ -Twenty-Two." Jamie grew increasingly agitated, then suddenly started pacing, seeming short of breath and muttering frantically to himself.

Batman let it go on briefly, then when Jamie showed no signs of slowing, he asked, "What is question number six?"

Jamie instantly calmed. "What is question number six, how many of the parents of these children are alive?"

"Zero."

"Seven, what is the location and contact information for all living parents?"

"There are no living parents. All of the parents of these children are dead and impossible to contact."

Jamie started getting agitated again, but calmed down when Batman gave him Bruce Wayne's phone number so that he had _something_ for the file. He asked for the legal names of the birds' Prime Earth counterparts, then, "Nine, describe how you acquired these children."

"I fought with the Batman Who Laughs. When he was defeated, I took the children off the battlefield and gave them into the care of Bruce Wayne."

"Ten, how long did these children remain in your care?"

"Approximately thirty minutes," Bruce invented.

"Eleven, when the children left your supervision, whose care did they pass into?"

 _'Be patient.'_ "Bruce Wayne's."

"Twelve, do you have any recommendations for individuals you would trust to have long-term custody of these children?"

Batman's impulse was to recommend all the legal adults in his family, but he had to be careful here. Certain people might try to discredit his recommendations by finding fault with his choices, such as why he'd listed an overworked seventeen-year-old business executive or an unemployed eighteen-year-old whose lifestyle was so atypical that half of Gotham didn't even know there was a daughter in the Wayne family. "My primary recommendation is Bruce Wayne, and my secondary recommendation is Richard Grayson of Prime Earth."

"Fourteen," Jamie said, having deliberately left out thirteen due to a phobia, "how would you assess Bruce Wayne's suitability as a guardian of the children in question?"

"Bruce Wayne has already raised or is raising six successful children, and I would trust him to have guardianship of the three survivors of Earth -22."

"Fifteen, there is no fifteen, fourteen is the last one, we have reached the end of the list. Ask if they have anything else to add. Mr. Batman, do you have anything else to add?"

"I do not."

"I do not. Do you have anything else to add, I do not. When the interview is finished, stop the recording." Jamie immediately did so, then launched forward with a business card as forcefully as he'd shaken hands. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Batman, please call us if you have any further questions." Without waiting for a response, he turned and marched away. There was a tiny smile on Batman's face just before he vanished off the roof.

To be continued...

A/N: Ftr, Jamie is almost completely fluent in written communication; it's face-to-face interaction that's more difficult for him.

Again, if/when I ever edit this fic, I'll get rid of redundant questions in that interview way back in the chapter with the socialites.

When I saw the scar on John's face in Medli's art, I started wondering how it got there, and that's the story that eventually came to me...


	48. Chapter 47

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 47 (rough draft)**

A/N: GAH, I totally forgot in the second half of the previous chapter that John is sick! *flails* I hate all the stupid mistakes I keep making in this fic!

Sorry for the short chapter this time. It's been about a week since the last update to both the main story and the deleted scenes, and I reached a decent stopping point, so I figured you guys'd rather have a short chapter now than wait even longer for one that'd only be a couple hundred words longer, especially since I'm going to be really busy this weekend.

o.o.o

Even though there wasn't much crime happening in Gotham on this particular night, patrol was...difficult. Batman couldn't stay still for too long, or he'd start feeling so bad that he was strongly tempted to go home and sleep. He forgot that he wasn't feeling well when when he was fighting or otherwise active, but he wasn't in peak condition, so he kept taking hits he should have been able to avoid, and grappling felt...dangerous.

 _"-in, B!"_ someone shouted.

Batman blinked. He was crouching on a rooftop, which he knew he'd been doing, but the moon had moved, so he'd probably been in this position for a lot longer than it had felt like. "What is it?" he growled into his comm.

 _"Are you okay?"_ Duke asked warily.

"Yes. I was busy," Batman lied. "What is it?"

 _"Just that someone's going around vandalizing shelters and new buildings. Probably two people. Not a big deal, but you weren't answering."_

"I'll take care of it." It was a slow night, he actually had time for vandals.

 _"No need!"_ Flash's cheery voice burst in with a crackle. _"Vandals now secured and waiting for police."_

"Hmm." Batman got to his feet. It was more difficult and painful and took a lot more time than it should have. He really had been crouching there for too long. "If nothing noteworthy happens in the next ten minutes, I'll be heading back."

 _"Cool,"_ Flash said. _"I think Nightwing and I'll-"_

 _"No,"_ Nightwing interrupted peevishly. _"I'm staying out until dawn. After all, I've got TIME now."_

Batman was immediately concerned, but he knew from past experience that trying to talk to Dick when he was in a mood like this, when they weren't face to face and had an audience, would not end well. All he dared to voice was an entirely different concern. "If you're sleeping in late, who's on bird duty tomorrow?"

That prompted a flurry of frustrated cursing from Nightwing.

 _"I will, I will,"_ Spoiler said soothingly. _"I'm turning in for the night, fellas. Birds will be taken care of, Nightwing."_

 _"I will ensure they have everything they need,"_ Damian added magnanimously.

 _"Yeah, good luck!"_ Nightwing's voice was full of bitterness. _"Should be easy for_ _you_ _._ _You_ _guys have nothing to lose."_

More static. _"You know what, I think Nightwing's comm is on the fritz,"_ Flash said firmly, with Nightwing's _"Gimme back my comm!"_ very faint in the background. _"We'll check back in with you guys when it's a little more functional, okay?"_

"Take care of him, Flash," Batman murmured. Then he turned and headed for home.

In the cave, he found that Duke had gone upstairs to bed, and Maya was asleep on a cot. John was asleep as well, sprawled under the computer at Damian's feet with his head pillowed on Titus and his blanket kicked aside. His face was flushed and there was sweat on his brow, but Bruce couldn't check on him because Peter, lounging across his brother and playing a video game before Batman arrived, hissed when he got too close.

"Give John some more water when he wakes up, Damian," Bruce sighed. "And cover him up if he looks like he's getting cold."

"Yes, Father, I know," Damian said in mild annoyance.

Bruce, too exhausted to change out of his suit, went to the farthest screen to work on his post-patrol report. Stephanie soon arrived and filled the cave with chatter for a while. "Stephanie," Bruce asked after her quick shower, "will you please check on Tim and Jack before you take the other children to bed?"

"Sure thing, Bruce." She went to Tim's room first, since he was alone. She found his room pitch dark except for the glow of the computer screen reflecting off his face. He cringed like a vampire when she flipped the light on.

"Oww, Steph..." He was sprawled across the bed on his stomach, pillows propping up his chest so that he could type more comfortably.

"You shouldn't work on the computer in the dark."

"Too much trouble to go turn on the light."

"There are two lamps in reach of your bed, dummy."

He didn't have an answer to that other than a vague, "Uh huh."

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine, except for _these_." He briefly waved his feet in the air, then rested them back on the pillows he'd been using to elevate them.

"Are you hungry?"

He paused. Then he looked annoyed. "Well, I _wasn't_ until you brought it up."

"You're supposed to eat when you're hungry, not avoid food until you're not hungry anymore!"

"I'm _busy_! I missed work, I missed patrol- Steph?" She had climbed onto the bed and sat on his back. "What are you-? _Mmph_!"

She held his face down in the bedding until he started to struggle, then let out a muffled screech at his impulsive move to brace his injured feet for leverage. He gasped when she let his face up just enough for air.

"Repeat after me: I, Timothy Jackson Drake..."

"Oh, come _on_ , Steph-" His face was forced back into the pillows, and he groaned in frustration.

"I, Timothy Jackson Drake," she prompted relentlessly when she let him up again.

"*siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh* I, Timothy Jackson Drake."

"Do solemnly swear."

"You know I _could_ throw you off if I really wanted to."

"DO SOLEMNLY SWEAR."

"Do solemnly swear," he sing-songed mockingly.

"To meet my responsibilities."

"To meet my responsibilities?" He sounded slightly curious now.

"By taking care of my body."

Another deep sigh. "By taking care of _my_ freaking body."

"So that I will be physically able to continue keeping safe aaaaallll the people in Gotham and the world who are relying on me, instead of collapsing from exhaustion and malnutrition because I insisted on being an obsessive idiot instead."

"...Okay, fine, Stephanie, I'll eat."

"And sleep."

"I've been sleeping all day!"

"Fine, but you'll eat _everything_ I bring you."

"Yes, yes, fine."

She leaned down to smack a kiss on his cheek. "Good boy."

"Patronizing little-" He tackled her when she started to climb off of him, and they wrestled a bit until he accidentally clunked his head against his laptop.

"Oh no, Tim, your head-?!"

"My computer!"

"Glad to see your priorities are in order," she said dryly. She climbed off the bed for real this time, leaving him to check over his laptop like an overprotective mother whose kid had just fallen on the playground.

Stephanie eventually delivered some leftovers to Tim's room, turned on the bedside lamps so she could switch off the overhead light in case he fell asleep later, then went to the birds' room. Cassandra, curled up on the bed, seemed more deeply asleep than usual, her brow furrowed a little. Beside her, Jack lay propped on pillows and lethargically tapped at a chess game on someone's tablet. He was losing, but not badly. As soon as Stephanie came in, he signed anxiously, _"Brothers?"_

 _"Everyone safe,"_ she reassured him. She felt his forehead, which was still warm.

 _"Thirsty,"_ he signed pathetically.

 _"I bring water, sweet baby."_ She did so, and also offered him some food that she had brought for him along with Tim's portion. Jack picked at it, seeming more interested in snuggling against her. Stephanie helped him eat and stroked his back and hair until he drifted off to sleep, then she dropped a light kiss on his head and went back down to the cave.

Damian and Peter were the only ones awake. Bruce had fallen asleep in his chair, his mouth slightly open, and Stephanie would have thought the sight comical if he didn't look so unhappy even in his sleep. Also...Bruce had fallen _asleep_ at the computer. Which she knew he did sometimes, but not while surrounded by children and definitely not when he'd had an hours-long nap earlier in the evening.

Damian waved to get her attention, then signed, _"Help me move him to bed."_ He pointed to the medbay.

The fact that Bruce _didn't wake up_ when a teenage girl and a kid in a wheelchair somehow manhandled him onto a stretcher was also weird. _'He's sick, too,'_ Stephanie realized, _'just like everyone else. Idiot, we didn't even need you on patrol tonight, why didn't you just go to_ _bed_ _in your actual_ _bed_ _instead of heading straight for your Bat getup?!'_

'Because he's Batman,' in the more negative sense of the phrase, was the obvious answer to that, so she didn't bother thinking about it anymore. Once Bruce was in the medbay, Damian removed his left gauntlet and started hooking him up to a PPN line - _'Should have just stuck one in Tim, too; not like my nagging's going to make him do any better next time,'_ \- and Stephanie went to coax Peter upstairs with her. He wouldn't leave John, even when she tried to reassure him that she'd come back for his brother, so she shrugged and worked to lift the unconscious nine-year-old. John whimpered and fussed, cracked open his eyes, looked around, and hissed at the unconscious Bruce, but then miserably allowed Stephanie and Peter to help him upstairs.

She went to the children's room and got them into bed beside their smallest brother. John touched his forehead to Jack's and exhaled softly in relief. Peter, looking pleased, patted the younger boy a little harder than he should have, but fortunately, Jack didn't wake.

Stephanie tried and failed to feed John (Peter was the one who gobbled it up in the end), though she did manage to get him to take a few sips of water. She laid a hesitant hand on Cassandra's shoulder, and had to shake a little to rouse her friend. Cass blinked up at her sleepily, and Stephanie leaned close to speak in a low voice. "Can you watch Johnny for a few hours? Make sure he doesn't hurt himself?"

Cass yawned and sat up. "I protect," she murmured.

"Okay. I'm gonna sleep as much as I can until morning; I've got babysitting duty tomorrow."

"Steph rest. I love you."

"Love you, too, Cassie." Stephanie kissed her friend's cheek and then took a blanket and pillow over to the divan across the room. The bed was big enough to include her, but it would have been uncomfortable with three kids and a teenager already on it, and it was probably better not to join in the pile of sick, anyway. _'Not that I haven't already been exposed to whatever Bat-germs are going around the house.'_ She fell asleep quickly, as did Peter.

Cassandra moved around to John. _"Precious, you worry me."_

 _"...Soul-tired."_

 _"Body-tired, too,"_ she noted.

He looked at her for a long time, low and weary. _"...You protect us."_

 _"Yes yes yes."_

 _"I sleep...we safe...?"_

 _"Yes. Yes. I love you."_

 _"...Tired."_ He didn't sleep, but he looked at the book she brought to him. She said nothing with her voice, but they paged through the pictures together.

 _"Confident, home, busy,"_ she guessed. _"Danger, I-will-not; I choose a sturdier path."_

 _"Away,"_ John signed longingly at the next page, then mixed body language with his ASL. _"Go out, far beyond to freedom..."_

 _"Strange, unexpected friends/help."_

 _"Strange, threatening, I don't care, I want it,"_ John insisted, frowning rebelliously at the book.

 _"Lift up, fly fun/beauty..."_

 _"I fly farthest highest, ME."_

 _"Oh no, come back don't leave me! Help!"_

 _"Find your way through, careful, keep going..."_

John liked the book enough that when it finally closed, his spirits seemed to be a little lighter. _"Tell me you love me,"_ he asked Cassandra, nestling into her.

 _"I love your whole self, every part of you. I love you so much my heart bleeds with it. You're my precious small one that I protect..."_

To be continued...

A/N: Hmm... I used "TPN" in an early chapter, but I think it should have been "PPN."

 **I'm getting ready to move soon, so updates might be more sporadic than usual until I get settled into my new home, hopefully by August.**

I've decided that I'm not going to try to include mental health professionals in this fic anymore. It just does not feel right to me, and I don't want to be forcing something into this story solely out of obligation. Mental health professionals might show up eventually, either on- or offscreen, or they might not. Either way, this fic is and has always been about Bruce Wayne and his family rescuing three damaged children and healing them with love, and I'm going to write that in the way that feels most natural to me.


	49. Chapter 48

_***Please read this chapter on AO3.**_

 _ **The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 48 (rough draft)**

A/N: Short chapter because it was hard to write, and because I haven't updated this fic in two months. Even after I FINALLY got my notes in order, this chapter was still difficult because sick fics are not really my thing. ^^;;;

o.o.o

Alfred woke up feeling more refreshed and energized than usual, which was a welcome change. He went about his morning routine and then descended to the kitchen, where he found two other earlybirds sitting at the kitchen table, sharing fruit from the bowl that was always kept filled on the counter.

"Good morning, Master Peter, Miss Ducard," Alfred greeted.

"Hi, Mr. Pennyworth," Maya said cheerfully.

Peter waved his fistful of brightly-colored loot. "Ooowwa'gge!" he announced.

Alfred set a pan on the stove and opened the refrigerator. "Indeed, young master. I'll have something more filling ready for you both in just a moment."

"I found him wandering alone in the hallway," Maya said. "I think everyone else is asleep."

Alfred paused. "...Perhaps several more moments than I anticipated." He set some cereal (relatively healthy cereal, not Dick's sugary rubbish) and a milk carton in front of them to tide them over, then went to check on the rest of the family.

They were, indeed, all sleeping, Bruce still in the cave where Damian and Stephanie had left him, Cassandra bodily draped over John, Dick curled tightly into Wally's side where they'd both fallen asleep sitting up against the headboard, almost everyone looking absolutely exhausted. Alfred adjusted blankets, turned off lights, tidied up a bit, informed Wayne Enterprises that neither Bruce nor Tim would be coming in to work that day, and wished he could do more to care for his overworked, stressed-out brood.

He returned to the kitchen and made a proper breakfast for Maya and Peter, then finished cooking for the rest of the household. With the children's help, he laid it all out on the dining room table in warmed pans. "Miss Ducard, thank you again for your help."

"No problem. Hey, Peter, you want to help me feed Goliath? The big red doggie?"

"Rre'dd dd _o_ 'ggie~~~!" Peter cheered.

o.o.o.o.o

It was a late, slow day. Even the people who dragged themselves out of bed before 11:00 a.m. were subdued and tired, Jack was still miserably sick and fussy, John still would not stay in bed even though he looked like crap and moved like a zombie, and Dick, depressed and uncharacteristically quiet, couldn't seem to let Wally out of his sight for long, almost like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline.

"Whyyyy?" Tim wailed, nearly crying as Alfred changed the bandages on his feet. He was sprawled on his bed in nothing but boxers, sweat beading on his brow and stomach twisting with nausea. "I was _fine_ last night, now I feel like crap _again_...!"

"There seems to be a bug going around," Alfred explained, sympathetic and a bit guilty. "It was ill luck that you caught it so soon after recovering from the toxin."

"Just let me diiiie..."

"Really, Master Tim, I would expect you to be above such dramatics, as you are less inclined to it than your brothers and father."

That earned a tiny smile. "Bruce doesn't whine. He curls up on the Batcomputer and snarls about how much he doesn't love you until you _want_ to leave him alone to die. Uuuuuuuuuggghhhh, I'm starving but I'll puke if I even _see_ anything edible..."

"Let me see what I can do."

By midafternoon, Bruce was _still_ asleep, but those who were out of bed had cheered up somewhat. Peter, in the highest spirits, shrieked with delight as he and Dick raced to catch Wally, who was showing off with his super-speed in a modified version of tag. Stephanie was playing pattern and puzzle games with Jack, who moved slowly but seemed interested enough in the activity to be distracted from how awful he felt.

John refused to eat or stay in bed, and insisted on zombie-shambling all over the manor until everyone started taking turns hauling him in a wagon. His vacant stare didn't change, but at least he was hopefully conserving more energy. Although he didn't eat, he would guzzle whatever he was given to drink and then usually throw it back up. Alfred started mixing protein powder and other nutrients into the drinks, hoping that at least some of it would be retained.

o.o.o.o.o

Bruce blinked up at the ceiling, irritated by a beeping sound. Someone had laid him in the medbay and taken off his gauntlet so they could stick an IV into him, which was now as empty as was safe (hence the beeping). He must have been _really_ out of it to not remember any of that, but the fluids and the sleep (it was almost _3:00_ in the afternoon?!) seemed to have done its job, because he felt much better now.

Grimy as heck, though. He took a much-needed shower and then headed upstairs, checking his tracker program as he went.

He stopped by Tim's room first. "Hey, Tim..."

"Bruuuuce," the teen said miserably. He had a blanket tightly wrapped around his upper body, but his legs and bandaged feet were sprawled out and uncovered by any bedding. His tablet, laptop, and phone were scattered across the bed and nightstands, but all their screens were dark. "Blargh. Everything, blargh."

Bruce sat down on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on Tim's forehead, not sure himself whether it was to estimate the boy's temperature or comfort him. Tim closed his eyes and relaxed slightly. _'Comfort,'_ Bruce decided, and lightly started running his fingers through Tim's hair. "You caught it, too?"

"Blargh blargh _blargh_."

"When was the last time anyone brought you something to eat or drink?"

"'Bout ten minutes ago. Steph just left."

"Oh."

"Light makes my head hurt," Tim whined, flicking his fingers resentfully at his tablet.

"Are you bored?"

"I'm _busy_ , but I can't _work_ on anything!"

"Sleep, Tim. Rest so you can get better and be able to return to work sooner."

"Can't sleeeeep. 'M _hot_ and 'm _cold_ at the _same time_. I hate. Everything."

Bruce hesitated, still stroking his son's hair. Then he decided he didn't care anymore. _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_

Tim exhaled deeply and was asleep before the second verse. Bruce leaned over to kiss his forehead, refreshed the water in the bottle on the nightstand, then moved on to the next-closest trackers. They were in the birds' room, so he was very, very careful when he peeked in. Cassandra and Jack were sprawled together, sleeping deeply. The boy looked troubled and was breathing heavily, and Cass was very still. Bruce wanted to examine them more closely, but he couldn't risk the child waking up and panicking, so he soundlessly shut the door again.

Duke didn't spend much time in his bedroom, so it worried Bruce that the teen's tracker registered there. He hoped that Duke was studying or something, but his worries were confirmed when he found the kid lying down with the covers all bunched at the foot of the bed, lethargically watching a show on his laptop. "You feeling all right, Duke?"

"Tired," the boy mumbled. He didn't protest when Bruce laid a hand against his too-warm forehead.

"Do you need me to get you anything?"

"'M fine...don't feel too bad, just super-tired..." Duke sighed deeply. "Too hot to sleep."

Bruce didn't want to set up a fan in case Duke got cold later and wasn't up to turning the fan off, so he went to wet a couple of washcloths in the bathroom.

"Thanks."

"What are you watching?"

"I don't even know...just hit the first one on the rec list..."

Bruce sat there for a while and watched with him. When he realized that the young man had dozed off, he lowered the volume on the laptop, untangled the sheet from the rest of the bedding, tugged it up to Duke's waist, and left quietly.

By then, he was very hungry, so he went to the kitchen, greeting a relieved-looking Alfred on the way. He warmed up some leftovers and was eating them when Peter came galloping merrily into the kitchen, followed by Dick, Damian, Wally, Stephanie, and Titus.

"Ddink da wwadda an' ssee't jju-!" the boy was babbling, then let out a shriek when he saw Bruce. He halted so suddenly that Stephanie nearly tripped over him, then flung himself back to cling to Dick's legs, shouting in angry, frightened birdsong.

Bruce ignored him and kept eating.

"Everything's fine, Peter," Dick said wearily.

"Kkki'll hhimm!" Peter demanded, pointing, looking to Wally for help. Damian made a wordless exclamation.

"Ummm...well, see, he's not doing anything execution-worthy at the moment...even if I did kill people, which I kinda don't..."

"'Sup, Bruce?" Stephanie said brightly, plunking down in the seat next to him. She stole a bread roll from his plate and chomped on it. "Feeling better?" she asked while chewing.

"Get your own food," Bruce grunted.

"Glad to hear it!" she said as if he had answered her question. "Back to the grumpy old bat we all know and love." She laid her head on his shoulder. Bruce ignored that, too.

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" Peter yelled.

Dick actually covered his ears like a child, face pinched like he was about to lose his mind.

"Heeeeyyy, so we came in for drinks, right?!" Wally said a little frantically, zipping around the kitchen. Damian, who'd just been pulling a pitcher of lemonade out of the refrigerator, protested when he found his hands empty and the speedster holding a tray full of glasses, complete with little cocktail umbrellas that Alfred usually used for pool parties (though the manor hadn't hosted one of those since Dick had been in the Teen Titans).

"I was getting it! And do not give the children glass, you fool," Damian said. "There are more appropriate vessels in the third cab-"

 _whoosh!_

"-inet from the pantry," Damian finished, then rolled his eyes. Wally's tray was now full of wooden cups that were safe for the birds, the glass tumblers all rinsed and sitting by the sink.

Dick took a deep breath. "Look, Peter," he said in a forcefully cheery voice, "there's a cute little umbrella in yours."

Wally handed a cup of lemonade to Peter, who stared at it for a minute before lifting it toward his face. Dick managed to snatch the umbrella out before Peter could poke himself in the eye with it. The little boy drank down the whole cup while glaring at Bruce. When he finished, Dick plucked the cup out of his hands and replaced it with the umbrella.

For a moment, it looked like Peter was going to be distracted by the delicate little construct, as he inspected it thoughtfully for a second. Then he looked up and squeezed his fist, crushing the tissue paper and paperboard ribs, and marched toward Bruce, the toothpick clenched in his hand like a weapon.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Stephanie scrambled to plant herself in front of Bruce protectively. "No stabbing Bruce with a toothpick umbrella!"

"Bba'dd mman!" Peter insisted.

"Peter, has Bruce done ANYTHING to hurt you since we came to this house?" Dick stormed.

"HA HA HA HA HA! _Tie birds in cage hurt arms legs back angry bad man laugh-!"_

Dick's mouth started to open, his face full of anger and frustration, but Wally managed to get to him first, spinning him around so they were facing away from the others. He murmured to his friend as Dick hunched tightly into himself.

Wheels sounded in the hall. Stephanie hurried to the entry and managed to warn Maya before she could get close enough for John to see Bruce. "Oh. Okay, but he's asleep."

Everyone was astonished, and they all (except Bruce, who continued shoveling food into his mouth because he needed to finish as soon as possible and get _out of here_ ) went to look. John was, indeed, curled up in the wagon, his eyes closed and his breathing noisy but even. Peter took a few steps toward his brother but Stephanie caught him, as Wally signed frantically, _"Quiet, quiet, quiet!"_

 _"Sleep, good night,"_ Peter acknowledged. Stephanie took hold of the wagon handle, and everyone else tiptoed away.

To be continued...

A/N: **See AO3 for Medli's drawing of happy teenage-ish birds!**


	50. Chapter 49

_***PLEASE READ THIS CHAPTER ON AO3.**_

 _ **The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 49 (rough draft)**

A/N: Now _this_ is more like it. I had a much easier time writing this chapter than the previous one, even with all the stuff I had to look up while drafting.

o.o.o

The only reason Bruce didn't run off to Wayne Tower or something was because he owed his children some things. When Cassandra woke up and seemed more energetic than she had been in the past couple of days, he pulled her aside and asked quietly, "Cass, I've been doing something with the boys... Well, things got thrown off Tuesday night, but I- That is, it's your turn, if you're feeling up to it..."

She patted his arm, and he realized that all she was probably getting was something like, 'I feel awkward and uncomfortable.' He took a deep breath. "Cassandra, tonight is your...your Dad Night. Or tomorrow night, if you prefer. If there's anything you'd like me to do with you, tell me what it is, and we'll do it together."

She cocked her head. "Together? Batman and Orphan?"

"No, I mean - for fun. Play. You and me, tonight. If that's all right. ...What would you like to do together for fun?"

Her eyes lit up. "Yes?!"

"Yes. Whatever you like."

"Dance! I dance, you dance!" Then she frowned and looked down at her wheelchair. "No."

Bruce internally winced. "Well, we can certainly dance when you're healed up. Is there anything else you would like to do this time?"

Cass thought for a while. Then she said decisively, "Dance. You and Dick. I watch."

"You want...to watch Dick and me dance together?"

She shrugged. "Anyone. With you."

That was when he saw her point. Dick was the only one _he_ could tolerate dancing with without dying of embarrassment. With his easygoing, openly affectionate eldest child, he would only be slightly incapacitated by embarrassment. "Ah. Dick and me, then."

She smiled.

"After dinner."

"Yes. I am happy." She patted him, and he gave her a small smile back.

o.o.o.o.o

Bruce was a little hesitant to ask because Dick had been in such a terrible mood lately, but the young man actually brightened up at the proposal. When he kissed the birds goodbye quite cheerfully and left them in the living room with the others, Bruce realized that he was glad to have a break.

"So, wait, Cass is getting a Dad Night, and Dami had a Dad Night, and Tim, and Duke? When's _my_ Dad Night?" Dick demanded playfully as they headed for the ballroom.

"Tomorrow," Bruce mumbled. "Or the day after, if Duke's feeling better - I still owe him two motorcycles."

"Wait, I really do get a Dad Night?!"

"I _am_ your father, too," Bruce said defensively. He'd never been successful in officially adopting Dick before the boy had reached adulthood, but Richard Grayson was certainly his son in spirit. Or at least...that was how he felt about it. He wasn't entirely certain of Dick's opinion.

To his relief, the young man simply gave him that 'My heart has been pierced by an arrow of familial love!' expression that was usually reserved for when his little brothers were openly nice to each other or otherwise made him proud. "Awww. _Bruce_. You mean you'd really go out and karaoke with me while we're dressed like Superfam cosplayers?"

Bruce made a choked sound. The look on his face made Dick burst into laughter. "At somewhere like Akiko's," Bruce managed to say, "and I will not cosplay. _You_ can wear whatever you want."

Dick stopped dead. "Wait, seriously? SERIOUSLY?! You'll really do karaoke with me?!"

"Japanese-style only," Bruce grumbled.

Dick's entire face lit up. Just like Cassandra's had earlier (she was currently watching them with a wide smile on her face). This Dad Night thing had been a good idea. "Bruce! Bruuuuuce!" He glomped Bruce, who rocked back a step to keep his balance. "Aaawww!" Dick was all but skipping as they continued setting up in the ballroom. "Akiko's hasn't rebuilt, but there's a place in Blüdhaven that's the same kind of deal. _Aw_ this is gonna be so awesome, can I bring Dami, too? Can I bring Cass and Tim? Can I bring EVERYONE?!"

Because of course Dick Grayson's idea of spending time with his dad included as many other people as he could get away with.

Bruce sighed deeply. "Family only, and only the ones who want to. No wheedling or bribery allowed."

"Awwwwww, this is gonna be awesooooooooome!" Dick made a sharp clap with his hands as if to shift gears, and started undulating toward a laughing Cassandra. "But tonight's all about the li'l sis! I will dance for you so hard, girl~ Haha oops that came out a little dirty; gonna do the sliiide, gonna do the tango-o-o~ gonna do the hoedown or the Macarena or whatever the heck you want, boss!" He was dancing as he spoke, swirling around his sister's wheelchair in little demonstrations of each suggestion, and she was holding her stomach trying to get her laughter under control.

She finally managed to point. _"You and Bruce."_

"That's right, old man!" Dick said brightly, straightening. "This is a team effort, here!"

"Just start the music," Bruce said in resignation.

Dick picked the first song, and a swift, insistent beat started pounding out of the hidden speakers. Cass watched admiringly as Dick waved his arms in the air and moved his body as if his joints were made of silicone.

Bruce slowly raised his arms and started to twitch his hips. One second later, he dropped his arms again and said flatly, "I can't do this."

Cassandra looked at him in concern, then raised the remote and clicked the sound off. Dick stopped dancing and looked around in confusion.

Bruce stood there for a minute, concentrating mostly on trying to keep his body language from broadcasting any undue distress. He wanted, genuinely _wanted_ to make his daughter happy, but this...he couldn't do it.

Dick approached and set a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry," he said gently. "I should have let you pick."

Bruce eyed him.

"I should have known, you're being so awesome lately, but you still have your limits. I'm sorry," Dick said sincerely. "Cass, you don't care _how_ we dance, right?"

She silently indicated with her hands, _"You and you that I love, together. Good."_

When Bruce still hesitated, Dick smiled and set Bruce's hand on his waist and took up his other hand so that they were in a traditional ballroom pose. "Don't worry, I'll be the girl."

Bruce tried very hard not to laugh. When he made a small, experimental nudge, Dick readily bowed to his lead. Although it was silent, Bruce felt the tension easing out of his body as they waltzed, Dick so comfortable with the situation that Bruce almost forgot he was dancing with a grown man to no music in front of a (tiny, but existing) audience. He focused instead on the familiar steps, the kind of dancing he had learned from his parents so long ago, the kind he could do in his sleep.

"4/4," he murmured, and their steps shifted seamlessly. He began to sing, and Dick went from affectionate half-smiling to outright beaming. _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_

Though Bruce was leading the actual dancing, Dick somehow seemed to be leading the mood, and through their combined efforts, the performance was friendly and playful - Bruce didn't even feel like he was singing a romantic song. Dick showed off, pretended to flirt, exaggerated, mimed, and basically had the time of his life. Bruce opened up in response, his voice growing in volume and enthusiasm, and...and he hadn't had this much simple, innocent fun since Dick had been a child. He could _feel_ how big his own smile was, it was a little disconcerting.

Dick was singing along now, at least whenever he wasn't laughing. _"_ _ _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_...!"_

o.o.o.o.o

She is excited. Bruce has never given Her the gift of Her own time before. His time, occasionally, teaching Her things or learning from Her and practicing with Her, patrolling with Her. But tonight, he says, "[This time-to-come, yours and mine, whatever you wish.]" It is very precious, and She loves him very much.

She worried at first that Dick would be unhappy to shoulder yet another burden, yet it is the opposite - his frustration/fury/grief slips from him at once, and he comes to them eagerly. A bit of that sadness remains, but he hides it, buries it under the relief of being wanted, of getting to play without poor terrified little ones constantly telling him how inadequate and useless he is. (They don't say it on purpose, but from how he reacts, She knows that's what he hears.)

They go to the huge dancing room, the one She wishes She could fill with happy people on those loud, glittery nights, rather than the bound-tight, fearful, vicious, cold ones Bruce always has to invite instead. Tonight, it is _Her_ dancing room, and there are not many to fill it with, but the ones She does have are happy and sweet. This room will be filled with joy the way it deserves.

Even before they reach it, Bruce starts saying, "[Awkward shy I love you, want to give to you]," and Dick shrieks, "[EXCITED SO HAPPY I LOVE YOU SO MUUUUCH!]" It's beautiful. She asked for the right thing.

 _"FOCUS,"_ Dick orders himself, then dances around Her in anticipation. _"[I give I give I give~ What do you want, beloved?]"_

She is laughing too hard to try to speak, but he understands when She says, _"You're supposed to dance together with Bruce-him, silly!"_

They get it wrong at first. She and Dick are so happy, they forget that it's more difficult for Bruce. He's so disappointed with himself, he feels like a failure, She is horrified that She asked more of his gift than he was able to give, but Dick understands.

Dick calms, reorients. She sees a small glimpse of that hidden sadness, and of relief that at least here, he is not useless, that this bit of brokenness is one he is able to mend.

The next bit she doesn't quite understand, when Dick prompts Bruce to hold him a particular way. Yet it is a silent communication of some sort, because Bruce relaxes a little. Dick says, _"See? We will do this instead, I know you like it better,"_ and Bruce does.

They dance again, and this time it is not one person crying out exuberantly, it is a _conversation_.

 _"Submit to me?"_ Bruce asks, very quiet and hesitant, and Dick's affirmative is instant and comfortable.

They move, Bruce gaining confidence, and nostalgia touches him. Dick's new slight boredom is covered with affection, and they dance on in the brimming silence.

 _"Yes, this is good, steady and understandable and friendly, it was good then, and it is good now..."_

 _"Bored~ bored~ Love you, Bruce, I could do this in my sleep~"_

Then Bruce murmurs something, and their dancing shifts as smoothly as a seal sliding into water. Dick's interest is piqued, _"Something? More interesting~? Curious, happy!"_

There is a very, very slight hint of mischief in Bruce. And then...and then he opens his mouth, and makes his voice BEAUTIFUL.

Dick is not astonished like She is, She has never heard Bruce sing with his mouth before, but Dick _is_ delighted and all trace of boredom has vanished. They dance together like two halves of a whole, Bruce leading, hinting, nudging, Dick catching each direction instantly, no matter how small. He whirls each move into his own, he and his father swaying and bending and twirling (well, it's Dick who does most of the twirling), perfectly complementary with Bruce's strong, steady grace and Dick's joyful expression.

 _"So happy, so happy,"_ Bruce is crooning with his body now, all weary sadness forgotten, bits of playfulness and color in his bodily voice that She had not known were ever a part of him. Dick's sadness is, for some reason, fighting more strongly now, but he is so euphoric that he ignores it. He dances on, throwing care to the winds as he trusts his father to direct their communion, just like he flings himself off buildings to fly without worrying first about how to catch himself. This symphony of love and partnership is one of the most beautiful things She has ever seen.

It draws to a close at last, and Her happiness and contentment are reflected in Bruce. Dick smiles back, delighted but very tired. He goes to sit down, and Bruce brings some water for then all to drink, then he sits down himself and pats Her hand. "Did you like that, Cassandra?"

"Yes, very," she tells him gladly.

"It was a good idea. Thank you for ~~."

They talk a little more, Bruce is saying something about songs She does not know, and then there's a thump. She realizes, horrified, that She was wrong, so wrong. It was not sadness fighting to steal Her brother's delight, it was illness, and he now lies where he fell at their feet, not quite conscious.

TBC

A/N: I can't remember whether Bruce has ever sung in front of Cass before this. X'''D I'll have to remember to check for that if/when I edit this fic.

Japanese karaoke is cool because you can book a private room with your friends and have a little party, so it's not nearly as embarrassing and stressful as having to sing to strangers in a bar.


	51. Chapter 50

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 50 (rough draft)**

Bruce cursed himself for an idiot. He'd _wondered_ why Dick had seemed so tired out after just one song, but only as a stray thought in the back of his mind. He'd handed out bottles of water and was discussing a possible playlist with Cassandra, too caught up in his own satisfaction to notice Dick fainting until it was too late to even catch him.

"Dick!" He was instantly on his knees, cradling his son in his arms. "What happ-?!" A hand to Dick's far too warm forehead answered his question.

"Bruuuuce?" Dick mumbled groggily.

Cassandra made a complicated gesture that was like _"Dismay/frustration/concern/shock/guilt!"_ all at once.

"Come on, chum." Dick was too heavy for Bruce to carry comfortably in his arms, so he stood up with the younger man draped over his shoulders instead.

"Dancing," Dick mumbled. "Next song."

"We are finished dancing," Bruce said firmly. "You're going to bed."

"Caaaaasss..."

"Dummy," she said with her mouth, though Bruce could tell from her body language that she felt guilty.

"Cassandra, it was not your fault," Bruce said.

"Dick is sick," she replied

Dick laughed loudly at the unintended rhyme, which made Cass smile and relax a little. Then he mumbled, "Ow."

"What hurts?" Bruce asked.

"Nothing. Dance time," Dick insisted, though his wriggle to be put down was extremely half-hearted.

"Self-assessment, Robin."

Dick hesitated at the old question he'd rarely been asked after becoming Nightwing. "...M' head hurts."

"What about your stomach?" Bruce asked, reaching the top of the stairs. In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have used a hold that put so much pressure on Dick's stomach, if nausea was an issue.

"Was okay until you picked me up..."

 _'Great.'_ Luckily, they were almost to Dick's room, though Bruce had trouble getting the door open while keeping Dick on his shoulders. He could have managed it eventually, but Cassandra came rolling out of the elevator and got to them first. She reached around Bruce to turn the knob and push the door open. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said, patting Dick's head.

Bruce laid him down and reached to change him into sleepwear, but Dick batted his hands away. "I can do it!"

"All right." Bruce stood back and crossed his arms.

It took a full three minutes for Dick to get his shirt off. He lay there for a while, bare-chested, staring at the ceiling. Then he rolled over and hugged a pillow tightly, hiding his face in it. "G'night."

"Dick, you're going to be very uncomfortable if you try to sleep in those pants."

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggghhhhhhhhh..."

Cassandra had left by the time Bruce got her brother settled. He was just about to leave as well when Dick grasped his sleeve. "Bruce."

Bruce waited. "What is it?" he finally asked.

Dick wasn't looking at him, his face mostly hidden by his hair and the angle. "...I lost my job. Took too much unapproved time off work." The unspoken _Dealing with family emergencies, most of them bird-related_ part was clear.

Bruce sat down on the edge of the bed. He honestly didn't care whether any of his kids were gainfully employed or not, since none of them were wasting their lives and he was rich enough to always provide for them and their children and probably even their grandchildren. However, he knew how strongly Dick valued his independence, and that the loss of his self-earned income was a heavy blow, particularly on top of all the distress the children had been causing him.

"I'm sorry," Bruce murmured. After a moment, he set a hand on Dick's back and stroked it slowly back and forth.

The young man burst into tears. He pressed his face into the pillow and wept deep, slow sobs that he was obviously trying and failing to get under control.

"It's all right."

Dick still kept crying for a while, the sobs eventually giving way to soft, dispirited wails. "Why can't I do anything right...?"

Bruce bent until his forehead rested against Dick's shoulder, his heart aching in response to his son's pain. "You've done so well. You've been incredibly helpful to me. I-"

"No one wants me! They don't believe me!"

"Dick-"

"No matter how hard I try, I'm _never good enough_...!"

Bruce, seriously concerned now, looked up and reached for his son's face. "Dick. Dick, stop. Listen to me."

"Aaaaahhhh...!"

"Look at me!"

Dick finally met his eyes, tears and shame and desperation filling his own.

"You are doing a good job," Bruce told him firmly. Dick's face crumpled and he started crying again. Bruce had to speak close to his ear to make sure he was heard. "You are doing excellent work in Bludhaven - even without my resources and without a partner, which is more than I've _ever_ accomplished. You have done more good for this family than I could ever quantify, you bring us together when we're unraveling, you calm us when we're out of control, you have done more to earn those children's love and trust than I could ever be capable of. You amaze me every day, Dick."

Although Dick still cried, he was quieter now, his fingers curled into Bruce's shirt. Bruce, almost draped over him, waited until Dick finally relaxed a bit before he was able to pull free. He fetched Zitka the stuffed elephant from the dresser and set it on the bed; Dick wrapped his arms around the toy and buried his face in it, looking exactly like John with Elephant. Bruce stared down at his son for a long time. _'It's hurting him to be here,'_ he thought heavily. No matter how invaluable Dick's help with the birds was, Bruce couldn't allow him to stay if this was the cost.

He looked up and caught a blur of motion, the sound of displaced air. He exhaled and went to the door, where he saw Wally pretending to approach the bedroom at a normal speed. "Oh, hi, Bruce!"

"Wally."

At his serious tone, the young man halted and looked at him a little apprehensively. "I didn't see anything! Just...just the elephant, but I don't think Dick minds-"

"Wally, as soon as he's well enough to travel, I need you to take him to Titans Tower. Don't let him come back until the children are better."

Wally stared.

"We can handle the birds. You came for Dick, not for them, and he needs you and the Titans more than we need him right now."

"...Are you sure? Those kids are...John is...in really bad shape."

"Dick is in bad shape, too."

"Yeah," Wally said sadly, and edged past him. In the room, his body language softened and he went to hug his friend.

"Wallyyyyyyyyy...!"

"It's okay, bro. You got a lotta people who love you. Everything's gonna work out okay."

Bruce left them alone and went downstairs to check on the others. Stephanie appeared to be dozing in a loveseat, looking exhausted, but almost as soon as Bruce peeked in, she straightened up with a gasp and hurried to the bathroom. Peter continued to watch TV, riveted by whatever cartoon was on the screen. John, who, to everyone's relief, had eaten about half a plate of dinner without throwing it up, was on the floor with his upper body on the couch, head buried in his arms. Damian absently patted him between turns as he and Maya played chess.

The boy looked up, sensing his father's presence. Bruce, not wanting to alert the birds, signed quietly, _"Everything good?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"Need help putting them to bed?"_

Damian paused as if it had not occured to him that he might be put in charge of such a responsibility.

 _"Stephanie can do it,"_ Bruce said.

 _"She is tired. Maybe sick? I can lay children on bed, easy."_

Bruce hid a smile at Damian's inexperience making him think the task was literal. _"They need to bathe and brush their teeth and wear pajamas, and you need to read a book to them. Not just lay them on a bed and put a blanket on them."_

Damian's expression grew haughty, which Bruce knew was how he hid embarrassment. _"Obviously."_

The bathroom door burst open and Stephanie, holding a large towel around her waist, called, "Guys! I forgot my Lady Bag at home and I- Oh, wait!" She leaned back to rummage in a cabinet. Then her face lit up and she victoriously waved a box of tampons. "Never mind, found some!" She braced her arm against the doorframe and shouted, "ALFRED, YOU'RE THE BEST!" to the house in general before slamming the door shut again. Bruce closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Good God, woman!" Damian exclaimed, mortified.

Maya was laughing. "I'll see if she needs a change of clo-"

That was about when Peter noticed Bruce, and he instantly took off running out the opposite entry from where Bruce was standing. John's shoulders twitched, but he didn't move.

"Dammit," Bruce growled. "Maya, get Peter; I'll see if Wally can help you. Damian, keep an eye on John." Unable to help with the children directly, he went upstairs to enlist the speedster, then, feeling useless, fetched Stephanie's duffel bag from her room and brought it back down. "Stephanie," he called, "I put your clothes out here in case you need them."

 _"Just panties, thanks!"_ she called from the other side of the door.

Bruce closed his eyes for a minute. He refused to touch a teenage girl's underclothes. "Stephanie," he said carefully, "I have the whole bag here, you can just get what you need from it."

 _"Cool beans!"_

Cassandra had just wheeled in. Bruce looked to her a little desperately for help. _"You, her, secret feminine things; I am LEAVING,"_ he did his best to say in body language, and made his escape.

o.o.o.o.o

"Pleeeaaase cooperate, birdies, Auntie Steph is so tired," Stephanie groaned. "And crampy." She, Maya, Damian with his stupid giant wheelchair and Cass with her own wheelchair she was somehow magically able to keep out of everyone's way were all crowded in the children's bedroom, trying to get Peter to undress and Jack to stop crying and John to not snap his shark teeth at everyone who reached for him. Wally had returned to tend to Dick, and Alfred was looking after the rest of the family.

"Mmama!" Jack wailed, and Cassandra pulled herself onto the bed to cuddle and comfort him.

Damian al Ghul Wayne could wield a sword by the time he was three, learned at least one or two new languages a year, and had earned the equivalent of several college degrees long before meeting his father at age ten. Getting one or two children clean, brushed, dressed, and read to was obviously laughably easy in comparison. "Go to bed, Brown," he ordered. "This is obviously beyond your capabilities."

"All right, _fine_ ," she huffed, stepping back with her hands up. "Let's see _you_ try."

Damian was slightly disconcerted, especially when Maya hoisted John into his lap and said, "It's okay, big brother Damian's got you." John sort of collapsed bonelessly against the older boy.

"Grayson, sit up," Damian ordered, wondering how the child could bear such an uncomfortable position. He had to keep an arm around the boy while he unhooked one small, socked foot from where it had gotten caught in the wheelchair. "Ew, are you _drooling_ on me?!"

Meanwhile, Maya was coaxing Peter. "Come on, buddy, why don't we take this shirt off, okay? Look, it's got stains from when you spilled your dinner on it. You wanna play with the rubber ducky here in the bath?"

Still fully clothed, Peter dropped to his knees beside the tub and scooped the rubber duck out of the water, making flying and then crashing noises.

"Okay, but you have to do that _in_ the bath, kid, not outside it."

Peter finally pulled off his clothes and climbed into the warm water when Maya added bubbles to it, and Damian managed to set John in the shower stall, get most of his clothes off (it was difficult to undress a deadweight child when he himself was in pain and had limited mobility), and start bathing him as best he could. John shivered from time to time, but appeared to have mentally checked out again. He soon leaned back into a corner of the stall and fell asleep, looking completely drained, and Damian wondered uneasily if it was a good idea to bathe a sick child. "Ducard, give me that towel over there!"

Maya had joined Peter in playing with the bath toys. "I don't follow orders from rude people."

Damian wanted to scream. " _Please_ give me that towel, you insufferable woman!"

She grinned and chucked it straight at his face, and he fumbled catching it because he was still holding the shower head. He turned off the water and wrapped the towel around John as best he could, then backed up a couple of inches to grab another to actively dry him with. John's eyelids fluttered open again and he gazed dully at Damian.

"Grayson," Damian whispered, pained to see a version of his exuberant older brother so blank and dispirited. "...I love you."

John closed his eyes again as if the words meant nothing to him, and that was what hurt Damian the most. The teenager gritted his teeth and finished drying John vigorously, then got another dry towel to wrap him back up in. He managed to haul the boy into his lap and wheeled him to the bed, where Cassandra helped lay John down (Stephanie had left as soon as she'd seen that bathtime was more or less under control).

Damian then went to the dresser and started dubiously searching through the drawer labeled 'John Sleepwear.' The sensible pajamas were in the back, obviously not often used; the ones on top and closer to the front were ridiculous, gaudy things with bright patterns and colors. _'Richard loves gaudy, colorful things.'_ Damian picked out the most obnoxious of the lot and brought it back over to the bed, where he and Cassandra worked together to get the inert child dressed.

About halfway through, John finally made eye contact, only to sign, slowly and clearly, _"Please kill me."_

"NO, Grayson!" Damian shouted. "No! Never! Get ahold of yourself!"

John dropped his hands and raised his eyes to the ceiling and checked out yet again.

"Wait- Stay," Cassandra begged, and tears filled her eyes.

Damian shoved away from the bed and yanked out the 'Peter Sleepwear' drawer. He grabbed the first set of pajamas that came to hand and brought them to the bathroom, where Peter was crouched naked on the floor, counting as Maya tried to dry him. "...sssebben, eeeiiigh'tt, nniiine, ttEN! Tten lli'll t'ooooess!" he announced proudly.

"That's _right_ , Peter, I have ten toes!"

"Everyone has ten toes," Damian snapped, throwing the pajamas at Maya, "except for those with polydactyly or oligodactyly."

"He's making sure I don't have poly-whatever or oli-whatever."

"No, he's not, he's practicing his counting!"

"It was a joke, Damian!"

"I KNOW!"

"You don't have to YELL!"

" _CROW_!" Peter screamed, both angry and afraid, " _CROW_! _CROW_!"

" _crow_!" Jack cried frantically from the bedroom, " _crow_ -!"

"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!" John suddenly started bellowing, and would not stop, and would not stop, so Cassandra finally dragged him onto her lap and took him away.

Tears smarted at Damian's eyes because he was so _bad_ at this and he _hated_ being bad at things and he HATED seeing his younger siblings upset and he hated most that he was the one who had frightened them. He didn't know how to fix it, either, and everyone who did was _gone_ except Maya, and now she was the only one to help him with a frightened, distressed six-year-old who was now dribbling snot and what looked like drops of watery vomit on the bed, and a still-naked eight-year-old who was clinging to Maya and glaring at him.

"Get _dressed_ , Todd," Damian said in exasperation. He looked at the puddle of gross Jack was crying into and knew he was not physically capable of changing the sheets of a king-sized bed right now. He sighed deeply, fetched yet another towel to cover the germ-ridden stains with, and used a damp washcloth to clean the child's face. Jack fussed and tried to jerk away, so Damian had to cup the back of his head with one hand to immobilize him while he worked as gently as he could with the washcloth in the other. "Hold still, Drake, this state of yours is very unbecoming. It was wrong of me to upset you, particularly when you are already ill."

"Mmama! [ _chirp-chirp_ ]! Ddaddy!"

Stupid eye-stinging. Damian's whisper was barely audible even to himself. "The only one you have is me." Finished, he tossed the dirty cloth aside and gently rested Jack's head on a pillow and then looked a little helplessly at the child, who was now gazing at him with a sad, pleading look. "I don't have anything for you, Drake." There was one more task left to complete before he could put a blanket over the children and leave. "Except a story."

He looked over at where Maya had finished helping Peter dress and was now coaxing him into bed. She danced Dog across the covers invitingly. Peter crouched like a hunting cat and watched avidly, then pounced. _"Caught the dog!"_ he twittered, then enthusiastically scrambled underneath the blankets and sat back against his pillow and hugged Dog, looking at Maya and Damian expectantly.

"He wants a bedtime story," Damian said.

"Which book do you want, little bird?" Maya asked, bringing an armful from the book rack to show Peter. He pointed decisively at _Are You My Mother?_ Maya flipped curiously through the pages and laughed. "We're going to read about a bird to some little birds!" She went back to the beginning and started to read properly, holding up the book so the children could see the pictures.

Jack, for some reason, had latched on to the person he'd just been trying to get away from minutes before. Damian couldn't really move with Jack's fingers clutching his shirt and Jack's head leaning against his chest, but he found he didn't quite mind.

TBC

 **I hate it when I write entire chunks of story before realizing that I forgot something important. DX DX**

"Pleeeaaase cooperate, birdies, Auntie Steph is so tired," Stephanie groaned. "And crampy." They were all crowded into the children's bedroom, trying to get Peter to undress and Jack to stop crying and John to not snap his teeth at everyone who reached for him. Wally had returned to tend to Dick.

Damian al Ghul Wayne could wield a sword by the time he was three, learned at least one or two new languages a year, and had earned the equivalent of several college degrees long before meeting his father at age ten. Getting three children clean, brushed, dressed, and read to was obviously laughably easy in comparison. "Go to bed, Brown," he ordered. "This is obviously beyond your capabilities."

"All right, _fine_ ," she huffed, stepping back with her hands up. "Let's see _you_ try."

Damian was slightly disconcerted, especially when Maya lifted Jack into his lap and said, "It's okay, big brother Damian's got you."

"Ddammi," Jack quavered, fingers immediately curling into Damian's shirt, "Bbat'mman, he ccome ffin' uss, he hh _u_ rrt uss...!"

"My father would never hurt you," Damian said, and regretted the harshness of his tone when the child hunched low and hid his face. "I...apologize for my tone. I am not angry with you. Get in the shower, Drake, so you won't be disgusting when you go to bed." Jack simply burrowed more snugly into him.

Meanwhile, Maya was coaxing Peter. "Come on, buddy, why don't we take this shirt off, okay? Look, it's got stains from when you spilled your dinner on it. You wanna play with the rubber ducky here in the bath?"

Still fully clothed, Peter dropped to his knees beside the tub and scooped the rubber duck out of the water, making flying and then crashing noises.

"Okay, but you have to do that _in_ the bath, kid, not outside it."

Peter finally pulled off his clothes and climbed into the warm water when Maya added bubbles to it, and Damian managed to get Jack into the shower stall, though only by hauling himself painfully out of the wheelchair and sitting on the tiled floor. Around that point was when Jack took over undressing and turning the knobs and twittering at Damian in a way that looked like he was explaining how to take a shower.

"This is ridiculous," Damian mumbled when Jack started washing his hair. He was sitting fully dressed and drenched in a shower while a naked six-year-old ruined his hair with body soap that smelled like mangoes, but at least it was progress. On the other side of the bathroom, Maya had joined Peter in playing with the bath toys. John R. GIRL YOU MORON, JACK IS SICK. *FACEPALM*

o.o.o

 **If you want to protect the Internet, the freedom of which is under threat, and you live in the U.S.:** freepress . net

 **If you live in the EU:** saveyourinternet . eu

A/N: Wait, so apparently in Rebirth, the Titans are headquartered in Titans Tower in Manhattan, and the Teen Titans are also headquartered in a place called Titans Tower, but in a different city? I know that Tim's pre-52 Teen Titans were based in San Francisco (I think), but I don't know if that's where Damian's team is now. Argh, DC, so confusing! X''D

Doodle of Peter on AO3!


	52. Chapter 51

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 51 (rough draft)**

It had taken a long time to calm down John, but at last he was still and quiet again. Cassandra, half-asleep, grew alert when she sensed the child shift in her arms.

John sat up, staring intently at the bedroom door. Cass looked, frowning, but couldn't detect anything of interest. John went to paw at the doorknob until Cassandra dragged herself out of bed and opened it for him. As if drawn by an irresistable call, John drifted down the corridor to Dick's room. He pushed through the half open door and then looked around in confusion.

Dick was curled up on the bed, tucked against Wally, who was absently toying his fingers through Dick's hair with one hand as he used his other to play a cell phone game.

Dick pointed without raising his hand or looking up. "If you start up again, I will kick you out," he mumbled.

John ignored him and went searching around the room, peering into the closet and then out the window.

"You looking for something, buddy?" Wally asked.

John knocked a fist against his own head and made one more half-hearted circuit, then swerved toward the bed and tried to pull Zitka away. Dick snarled wordlessly at him and clung tighter to the elephant. John hissed back, but let go dismissively and turned his attention to the player beside the bed, which was emitting soft calliope music. John put his face right up to it and stared.

Cass, watching from the doorway, finally understood. She had heard the music earlier but had dismissed it as background noise, yet it was important to John. Something about it signified an even greater object of interest which he hadn't been able to find, so now he gave all his attention to the music itself with a mix of frustration, longing, hope, and grief.

Dick relaxed, coming to the same realization. "It makes me feel better when everything's crap," he murmured. "Sorry it's not the real thing, Johnny."

"Mmamma," John said softly. "Dda'ddyy."

The breath Dick drew in was sharp and shaky, and Wally's fingers in his hair rubbed soothingly in response.

The track ended, and "The Circus Bee" started. John slowly climbed onto the bed and nestled under Dick's arm, head resting against Zitka. Dick hid his face against John's hair.

"Dick, John, good?" Cassandra asked.

After a pause, Wally smiled at her and said quietly, "I got 'em, Cass."

She smiled back in acknowledgment and went to the children's room for the rest of the night.

o.o.o.o.o

Bruce dragged himself out of bed to get ready for work and go downstairs. No one was in the kitchen except Alfred, who was making breakfast, and Maya, who was slumped at the table listlessly poking at a barely-eaten piece of toast.

"Good morning," Bruce said, a little uncertainly. The others returned the greeting, Alfred polite as usual, Maya in a lethargic mumble. "...Are you all right?" Bruce asked her.

"I'm not hungry. I don't want to babysit today. Or clean. Even if you pay me."

Bruce raised his hand, hesitated, then finished the gesture, resting it on her warm forehead. "...Maybe you'd better go back to bed."

"Yeah."

He escorted her to make sure she reached the guest room safely. On the way, he caught sight of Wally at the end of a corridor, pulling John in a wagon, but the speedster hastily backed up a few steps and continued on down his own corridor rather than turning into Bruce's. _'Probably for the best,'_ Bruce thought heavily.

Once Maya was back in bed, Bruce started making the rounds. Tim was a heap of misery, lying very still because he said even just shifting positions was awful. Bruce got him ice chips and medicine and crackers and whatever else he could think of that might help, then just sat with him for a while as an audiobook played. When the boy got very drowsy and stopped making commentary, Bruce moved on, skipping the birds' room because Cassandra was in there with Jack and Peter.

Duke was sitting up in bed, working on his laptop, but didn't feel like coming down to breakfast. His temperature was almost back to normal, so Bruce patted his shoulder and moved on. Dick was fast asleep; Stephanie seemed to be in even worse shape than Tim. "I have _cramps_ and _nausea_ at the SAME TIIIIIIME!" she wailed, bent around the heating pad on her stomach and shoving a pillow on top of it so hard it looked like she was trying to stab herself with it.

"What do you...need...?"

"I need to NOT BE SICK, and I need all the insides of my uterus to FINISH trashing themselves already!"

 _'Oh God.'_ Bruce did his best to tie her hair into a bun, which she seemed to appreciate, and brought everything on the _How To Feel Better During Your Period_ list that he looked up on his phone. He played a round of cards with her and then cautiously left her watching a movie and nibbling on a bit of ginger root. He went to check on Damian, whose tracker was in the Batcave.

"Are you well enough to be training, Damian?"

"I get out of that damn chair TODAY, Father," the boy said determinedly, hauling himself into another pull-up.

Bruce looked from him to the nearby pair of crutches, then to the wheelchair that had been left askew in the medbay. "Well. Just in case, I will...hnn."

Both father and son ignored each other as Bruce moved the wheelchair close enough to the crutches to be within fairly easy reach, but far enough away that it didn't serve as a silently insistent form of communication. "Have a good day, if I don't see you before I leave for work."

"Yes, goodbye, Father."

Bruce finally went up to grab a quick meal and the lunch Alfred had packed for him before leaving.

o.o.o.o.o

Duke was feeling well by afternoon, so Bruce left work early to take him motorcycle shopping, since there was also a Justice League meeting to fit in before patrol. Batman arrived at the Watchtower a little early for the meeting but later than usual, since everyone but Flash was already there.

Wonder Woman was chatting with Jessica while they waited, and Cyborg was showing a hologram to Superman and Simon. Aquaman was arguing with someone on an Atlantean communicator. Batman stalked straight past them all without a greeting, heading for his usual work station.

"Hi, Batman," Clark said pointedly.

Bruce had intended to ignore him, sit down, and start working, but he was brought up short by the new decorative additions. The Photo Board had always contained mementos of past successful missions, including various members of the League posing with some of the people they'd rescued. Every work station was adorned with photos, art, or keepsakes (even Bruce, who refused to allow photos of his family out of costume anywhere near superhero business, kept a picture next to his computer of Dick, a slightly embarrassed Tim, and a grumpy Damian all posing together in Robin costumes, with Dick's bad drawing of Jason as Robin taped to the end). He was used to seeing pictures in the Watchtower of Clark's adoptive parents, Lois and Jon Kent, the kids Victor volunteered with, the various incarnations of the Teen Titans, Dick and Wally in their younger days, Simon's nephew, even a photo Clark kept by his computer of young Dick as Robin proudly posing with Superman.

He hadn't expected to see a picture by Barry's station of three sleeping birds nesting on a practice mat, with masks photoshopped in; or one of Peter's drawings taped above Diana's desk, or a photo of Jack styling the Green Lantern's hair on Jessica's. Next to a picture of the Kent family, there was a new one of John touching the S on Superman's chest as Clark smiled at him fondly. The relaxed, gentle expression on the boy's face made Batman's heart hurt.

"Bruce?"

Batman whirled on them before he was even aware of what he was doing. "Did I give you permission to plaster pictures of my children all over the Watchtower?" he snarled.

Flash, who had literally _just_ stepped out of a Zeta-Tube and was about to call a greeting, lowered his arm as the smile dropped off his face. "We hid their identities," he said tentatively.

"You had no right!" Batman stormed around as he spoke, seizing photos of the birds and crushing them in shaking fists. "They're _my_ children, they've suffered enough, they don't need any more scrutiny or any villains being made aware of their existence, if you've endangered them _again_ I will make you _beg_ for mercy-!"

"BRUCE!"

Batman glared at Superman and Wonder Woman, seething. They were facing him with hard stances he really, really did not like. It was the kind of body language they got when they were about to get in his way because of an ideological disagreement, the kind of situation that always made Bruce feel so disappointed and alone. Cyborg's face had gone expressionless, Flash looked extremely uncomfortable, and both young Lanterns outright frightened. Aquaman had his arms crossed and looked like he was on the verge of losing his own temper.

"Bruce," Diana said, her gentle, compassionte tone even worse than Clark's insufferable commanding one. "It is not these pictures that distress you. What's wrong?"

He stormed past them into a Zeta-Tube. If the team was going to be stupid and useless, he couldn't stand being in their presence long enough for a meeting.

He heard the Tube activate behind him, but ignored it. He strode to the Batcomputer and savagely hit a string of keys. Screw the League; he had plenty of his own work to do.

Superman and Wonder Woman let him be for about five minutes, then Clark asked softly, "How are the kids doing?"

Bruce flew out of his chair again and whirled to face them. "You want to know how they're doing?! You want a status report? Fine, I'll show you, but let me hide the _Bat_ first," he spat, starting to strip out of his suit, "so I don't terrify the birds into throwing themselves off the manor roof."

"Throwing themselves- What?!"

Superhero identities shed, it was Clark Kent and Diana Prince who followed in Bruce's wake when he transitioned from the cave to the manor. Bruce didn't bother to hide his angry footsteps, and he heard Peter flee even before he reached the living room.

Damian looked startled at the state of his father when Bruce came looming into the entryway. John leaped up and ran to seize the fireplace poker for a weapon; the cat raced out of the room, and Titus whined fearfully as he backed into a corner.

"Superman and Wonder Woman want to know how you're doing, John," Bruce thundered. "How are you doing? Have you stopped dissociating and asking people to kill you yet?" John backed away as he advanced, looking fully ready to do battle; Bruce kept out of range, probably the only reason the boy hadn't lashed out with his weapon yet.

"Bruce, stop it, you're scaring him," Clark said angrily.

"Have you eaten today?" Bruce demanded of John, ignoring the Kryptonian. He felt two sets of unfairly strong hands grab him. "Don't bother answering, I know you haven't eaten since last night." He strained to break free, but his so-called 'friends' were restraining him in earnest now, and he might as well have been weak as a kitten for all the good it did him. _'Damn metas.'_ "I told Alfred to text me every time you ate, but he hasn't sent me a single fucking text this whole day, John Grayson. How are you still standing? Are you getting all your energy from sheer hatred of me right now?"

John had made no attempt to respond, didn't even look frightened, just stood there clutching the poker in readiness.

"Father?" Damian said. He was the one who sounded frightened.

And then, "What is going on here, Bruce?" Alfred's voice, absolutely livid.

Bruce jerked, and this time, probably since he was aiming in the opposite direction, his captors let him go. He stormed out the back door and marched _away_ , past the gardens and into the trees, farther and farther, having no destination in mind.

He marched until he was tired, which took a very long time. Then he sat on a log and put his elbows on his knees and folded his hands and rested his forehead against them. He felt them settle down on either side of him, Clark and Diana, who had silently kept pace with him all this time.

Several long minutes passed. After a while, Bruce realized that he was going to lose the battle against his tears, so he wanted Clark and Diana _gone_ before they could see, but he couldn't tell them to leave because if he opened his mouth or raised his head, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from crying. He struggled on, managing to keep silent through sheer force of will, but that was all he could manage. The first tear slipped down his cheek, and thank God his face was already hidden. Another followed it, and another, and he slowly spread his hands down his face, surreptitiously clearing the tears. Except they kept coming, and kept coming, then Clark's arm was moving across his shoulders and Diana's around his waist, and at the warm, gentle support of their touch, he couldn't hold back the sobs anymore.

Completely ashamed, furious at himself, he wept into his sleeves, wanting so badly to tell the damn aliens to fuck off so they'd stop seeing him cry, but of course he couldn't say a word because he was too fucking busy crying.

And then it went on so long and he'd made too much of a fool of himself that there was no pride left to protect anymore, so he leaned into Clark and stopped fighting his grief. Clark's arm tightened and his cheek leaned against Bruce's hair; Diana's other arm came around to join the first and the weight of her head resting on his shoulder was comforting.

At long last, he managed to say, "They hate me."

No one said anything for a long time. Tears finally spent, Bruce said, quietly but more clearly now, "John hates me so much he wants to die. He wants to _die_."

They finally straightened up again, just when the weight had become more confining than comforting, though they didn't break the embrace completely. "Why didn't you tell us?" Clark murmured. "We would have come sooner."

"It happened Tuesday night...they saw me as Batman...John has never trusted me, but now they think I'm the one who _Laughs_. They think _I'm_ the one who fucking whipped them, who pumped them full of toxin and welded those damn masks to their faces and fed them human flesh- They _won't believe me_. They think I'm him. They won't believe me."

"I could use my Lasso, if you are willing."

"They refused to believe Dick, too."

"Ah. Never mind, then."

"If Laughs was a dark multiverse version of you," Clark said slowly, "he probably had a dark multiverse version of Wayne Manor. If the boys...are living in a version of the same house they...spent some unpleasant time in..."

Bruce bowed his head. "We could move to a different home, but what's the point when they hate me even more than the manor?"

"I'm sure a break couldn't hurt, at least. Would you...like me to take them to Metropolis this weekend?"

Bruce was silent for a long time. "Clark...or you, Diana...I could never entrust my children to foster care, but if you could...would you...?" His question hung unfinished.

"Let's see how the weekend goes for now," Clark said softly. "Let me call Lois."

TBC

A/N: I have had simultaneous cramps and nausea before, several times. It is truly horrible. DX

Clark & Diana comforting a weeping Bruce was going to be in a one-shot I meant to write as an epilogue to "Dark Nights: Metal" (conceived before the canon story arc ended), but I might never get around to writing that fic, so I'm recycling the story seed here in TBWS instead.


	53. Chapter 52

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 52 (rough draft)**

It was dark by the time they returned to the house. Everyone who wasn't sick was in the middle of dinner; the minute Bruce showed his face, Peter clung to Alfred. John stood up from his barely-touched meal and grabbed the closest two forks to wield in his little fists, all without changing his tired expression.

"I just came to apologize," Bruce said, gruffly but loudly. "Peter, I'm sorry for scaring you, and John, I'm sorry for threatening you."

No one moved or spoke, though Alfred's face relaxed slightly.

"...Clark has offered to let the children stay with his family this weekend." He looked at Alfred, who nodded in acknowledgment of the need to pack.

"I will accompany them," Damian said softly.

"What about Jack?" Duke asked. "He's still sick."

"We'll see how he feels tomorrow."

There was a pause, interrupted only by a quiet crow from John and then a "Ggo aww _ay_!" from Peter. Bruce left.

o.o.o.o.o

The next morning, since Bruce would do more harm than good if he involved himself in the birds' departure, he opted to start driving Damian and all the luggage to Metropolis instead. Since the children still couldn't tolerate seatbelts and no one was going to make them try in their current high-strung state, Clark had enlisted the help of his cousin, along with his son, to transport the birds in a hopefully less traumatic fashion.

"Bruce has _more_ babies?!" Kara exclaimed in delight, gently brushing Jack's hair out of his face. He gazed up at her, half-apprehensive and half-hopeful. "They're so cute!"

"Hi, Peter," Jon greeted, holding up his hand for a high-five. Peter grinned wildly, crouched, then _leaped_ up to slap his hand against the older boy's. Jon just barely managed to roll with the strike in time so that the child wouldn't injure himself on half-Kryptonian flesh.

"Johnny," Clark said gently. John continued to stroke a feather against the glass of the window and did not acknowledge him. "You ready to leave soon?"

"..."

"You and your brothers are going to come visit my family for a couple of days."

John eyed him, then after a long moment, he asked, _"Leave here?"_

"For two days, yes. After that...I really don't know what's going to happen, but hopefully you'll feel better in a different house."

 _"...Batman."_

"Batman's going to stay here. You and Peter and Jack and Damian will come visit me, for two days."

 _"Two days. Three days, die."_

"No!" Clark gasped, startled. He was starting to realize why Bruce was so upset. "No, Johnny. No one is going to die. I'm Superman, and it's my job to protect you and keep you safe, you and all your brothers. I won't let anything bad happen to you, all right?"

John looked away dismissively and resumed tapping his feather against the glass, ignoring all other attempts at communication.

Since Peter was in the best shape, Jon was assigned to carry him. Jack was feeling better, but hadn't completely recovered from his illness yet, so Kara bundled him up and lifted him carefully. Superman himself picked up John, the apathetic child feeling tiny and fragile in his arms.

Alfred, Cassandra, Duke, and Wally came out onto the terrace to say goodbye, but there was little fanfare as the Kryptonians rose into the air and flew off. The commotion came from the children themselves - Peter shrieked in surprise and clung to Jon like a monkey; Jack squealed and wriggled anxiously in his blankets, but Kara murmured to him and flew slowly, and he settled down. The boys peered around in wonder, Peter excitedly pointing and yelling.

John looked shocked. He stared down at the ground as it got more and more distant, unable to tear his eyes away until Superman's flight had evened out for several minutes. Unlike his brothers, the oldest boy did not cling; once he had gotten over the surprise, he stirred restlessly, making no attempt to secure himself. He tried to climb over the Kryptonian's shoulder several times, making soft noises of frustration when Clark nervously tightened his grip. John finally gave up escaping the hold and just leaned back as far as he could, head and arms _dangling_.

"Just hold on, buddy, we'll be there soon," Clark said, disturbed by the distinct sense that John wasn't bothering to hold onto him, not out of trust, but rather a complete lack of care for his own life and safety. In response to the reassurance, John simply closed his eyes.

"BBB _IRR_ 'DDIE!" Peter screamed in excitement, jabbing his finger at a couple of much smaller soaring figures nearby.

"Ack, Peter!"

Lois was on the balcony of their Metropolis apartment when they arrived, shading her eyes against the sun. She smiled when her family came touching down lightly next to her. "How was it?" she asked, leaning in to briefly kiss her husband and ruffle her son's hair.

"He's so _wriggly_!" Jon gasped, gratefully setting down his burden. "I was scared I was gonna drop 'im!"

"Good thing you didn't, Bruce would have skinned me alive," Clark said, gently setting his own precious cargo on the floor. John remained where he'd been placed like a doll, barely even looking around his new surroundings.

"Do you have somewhere this little guy can lie down?" Supergirl asked, nodding toward Jack, who'd fallen asleep in her arms.

"Through here," Lois said, starting to lead the way to the guest room.

"Mom, is Damian here yet?" Jon asked hopefully, following Peter as the little boy eagerly started to explore the apartment.

"Why would he be?" Lois laughed. "You fly _much_ faster than a car."

"Yeah, but they're Batman and Robin, they like to show off and pop up out of nowhere!"

"Not this time, kiddo. Don't worry, he'll get here soon enough."

Clark, left alone on the balcony, stared down at John. "You want me to show you around, buddy?"

No response.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty? Would you like some lemonade, Johnny?"

John slowly stood up. He walked to the edge of the balcony, took hold of the railing, and started to hoist himself up.

"WHOA!" Clark grabbed the child, trying not to squeeze him too hard in his panic. "Oh my God, let's get you inside, we are going to be keeping the sliding door locked all weekend, oh my God...!" Not knowing what else to do, he set John on the couch and turned on the TV, flipping through channels until he found a cartoon. After a minute, John sank down to curl into a corner of the couch, eyes dull as he looked at the TV, thumb slipping into his mouth.

Clark, having been verbally warned about the harmful thumb-sucking (it was also in the forty-page 'How to take care of my babies' manual Bruce had given him three copies of and forced him to read earlier that morning), knew he needed a chew fidget, but unlike Jack, John didn't have one already hanging around his neck, and the backups were still en route with Bruce and Damian. Although John was sucking, not chewing, his teeth were so sharp that he was still making small cuts on his thumb, so Clark grabbed a silicone cooking spoon from the kitchen for John to use instead. The boy tried to push him away a few times, but finally grumbled and closed his mouth on the spoon handle.

Clark exhaled, already wondering what he'd gotten himself into, and looked up. Lois and Kara were just coming back down the hall, and Jon was smiling as he showed Peter a Rubik's Cube. "You twist it until all the colors are matched together, see? Damian's a lot faster at it than I am, but I've got three blue squares so far!"

Kara paused to clap her cousin's shoulder. "Well, I guess I'll be taking off, Clark. See you Sunday?"

"Yes. Thank you again, Kara."

She smiled. "My pleasure. Tell Jack I hope he feels better soon!"

After she had taken off from the balcony, Clark firmly closed the sliding door and told his wife and son, "Lois, Jon, we're going to need to keep this door shut and locked tight, okay? Earlier, Johnny tried to...um..." He wasn't ready to have a talk about suicide with his happy, innocent ten-year-old yet, particularly within earshot of the suicidal child in question. "That is, the balcony is very unsafe for the children, so let's just keep them away from it altogether, okay?"

"Don't worry, Dad, I won't let them go out there by themselves. I'll catch them if they fall."

"No, Jon, I mean I _really_ need you to not let them anywhere near there, particularly Johnny, ever. I mean it, pal."

Jon frowned in confusion at the serious urgency in his father's tone, but said, "Okay, Dad."

Lois caught her husband's eye, and Clark mouthed _"Later"_ at her.

When the car arrived, Bruce stayed downstairs, so Clark and Jon took all the luggage and accompanied Damian back up to the apartment. The thirteen-year-old was on crutches now, sweating a bit but giving no other indication of pain as he hauled himself out of the elevator and continued to argue amiably with his friend. "I'm just saying that I _could_ have beat you here if _I_ was driving and had no civilian cover to maintain."

"Uh huh, keep telling yourself that, Damian."

Peter, who was enthusiastically snacking in the kitchen, yelled "DdAmmi~!" when the front door opened and ran to hug his big brother.

Damian looked pleasantly surprised. "Hello, Todd."

"Da ccarrro'tt an' ccerry an' ppeebah!"

"Todd." Damian leaned close to get his attention, and the boy stared back. "Ce-le-ry," Damian enunciated clearly.

"Cce-wuh-wy."

"Ce."

"Cce."

"Lle."

"Ullleh."

"Rrry."

"Wwy."

"Rrrrrrrry."

"Wwwwrrrr!"

They went through it again with 'peanut butter,' until Peter had gotten his pronunciation reasonably correct. "Good job," Damian praised in a businesslike tone.

"Ggoo'dd jjob, Ppe'tah!" Peter held out his hand expectantly.

"I'm not going to give you a treat, you _have_ treats!" Damian exclaimed in exasperation, pointing at the array of carrots, celery, and peanut butter on the kitchen table.

"Pp _ee_ bah!" Peter yelled at him defiantly, then galloped back to finish his snack.

Damian looked around the apartment. "What is wrong with you, this is completely unacceptable!" he exclaimed, startling the fondly watching Kents into mild alarm. Damian crutched himself over to a mirrored table by the wall, on which was a set of three vases. "You'll need to put away anything breakable for the duration of the children's stay, particularly if it has no practical use; all cords need to be bundled up and covered, preferably unplugged and put away if the device won't be used this weekend; all sharp cookware- My God, you don't even have child safety locks on any cabinets! What is wrong with you, didn't Father _tell_ you Grayson is a suicide risk?!"

"A what risk?!" Jon yelped, he and his parents already scurrying around to obey.

After the apartment had been reasonably bird-proofed, Damian had checked on the still-sleeping Jack, and Peter had finished eating, Clark cautiously suggested a board game, hoping that would be a good way to test the waters.

Peter was as energetic and cheerfully curious as he remembered, but John showed zero interest, not even in the cartoon - he didn't protest or resist when Clark moved him from the couch to the floor by the game, and wouldn't grasp the game piece they attempted to give him.

"Grayson." Damian took hold of his face with one hand and scrutinized it. After a moment, John's eyes narrowed in a mild glare. Damian released him. "I don't know if it's worse or better when he goes so passive even when not dissociating."

"What's disso-?" Jon started to ask, his tone timid as if he knew he wouldn't like the answer.

 _"Batman,"_ John signed. Lois, who knew the alphabet and a few words but wasn't fluent, and Jon, who knew no ASL at all, were wearing universal translators that the League usually used when traveling to other planets, so everyone understood.

"He's not here, Joh-"

 _"Two days, then Batman."_

Everyone exchanged a look (except Peter, who'd started arranging everyone's game pieces on the board according to whatever rules he was in the process of making up). "Johnny," Clark asked slowly, "if Batman were to go away forever, what would you like to do? Where would you like to live?"

 _"Batman die, I die."_

"No, if you were alive, but Batman was gone forever. What would you do then?"

 _"Stupid! Batman die, I die, brothers fly away happy."_

Clark could very much most definitely see why Bruce had been so upset. "Johnny, I am not going to let you die. I will protect you and your brothers from _anything_ that tries to hurt you. We just want to know what we can do to make you feel safe."

The child's only response was to spread his mouth in a slow Joker smile. Jon shuddered and looked away.

 _"Stop scaring the big people, I want to play the game,"_ [ _caw_ ] twittered impatiently.

 _"Very much so stupid big people,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] muttered. He had seen the big S and the little S and the W and all the others in Master's cave, stained with old blood. He had heard Master brag. Master liked to let new people come, over and over again, because the fun part was making them scream and cry and beg before he killed them. New Superman would die like Old Superman because Master was strongest of all, but instead of flying away safe, New Superman told birds he would protect them.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ]'s big people in the circus had never been this stupid, but Master had killed all the smart ones, and now he was killing the stupid ones. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] wished wished wished he didn't have to watch, that Master would stop saving him for last.

TBC

A/N: I've barely seen Kara in the comics (I've actually read more of the Earth-2 Power Girl [who kind of irritates me] than I have Supergirl), so I'm basing what little characterization I have of her on the few episodes of the CW show I watched.

I tried to look it up, but I still couldn't figure out if Clark knows a ton of languages because he actually learned them all, or if it's a superpower. X''D Either way, I think he'd know ASL, but I wasn't sure about Jon. If it _is_ a superpower, it might not have kicked in for Jon yet, since he needed a translator in _Super Sons_.

STUPID COMPUTER. It doesn't even last a freaking half hour on its own anymore (just _yesterday_ it could make it over an hour without being plugged in), died on me when it still thought it had like 80% of charge left; I'm keeping it plugged in all the time now, I'll pull from my savings account to buy a new laptop next week, this is completely unacceptable. -.-


	54. Chapter 53

_***PLEASE READ THIS CHAPTER ON AO3**_

 _ **The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 53 (rough draft)**

The doorbell rang for the pizza delivery, and Jon gratefully leaped up to answer it. A moment later, a child's frightened, confused wail started in the guest room, and Lois, with Peter on her heels, hurried to soothe Jack. She carried him back into the living room just as Jon was bringing the pizza in and Clark was fetching plates and napkins. "We got two without meat for all our vegetarian friends here," Clark said as he handed a plate to Damian.

"Thank you. Where are the utensils?" the teen asked.

"Uh..." Of _course_ Bruce Wayne's son would eat pizza with utensils. "I'll go get some."

"It's all right, Jackie, see?" Lois crooned, settling back on the floor with the youngest child in her lap. "You're safe, and your brothers are here. Are you hungry?"

Jack clung to her and stared around the apartment as Peter patted him and twittered.

 _"No more Master?"_ [ _warble_ ] twittered back, _"No more Master...?"_

 _"No more! Flying and FOOD and bird-games and [pp'IT'sssaaa]!"_ [ _caw_ ] cheered.

 _"[chirp-chirp]?"_

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] viciously turned his back.

 _"[chirp-chirp] mad,"_ [ _caw_ ] explained, unconcerned. _"Waiting for Bat."_

 _"I can't fly,"_ [ _warble_ ] whimpered. He was still so weak and tired.

 _"[chirp-chirp] kill Bat before he hurts you. Safe."_

[ _warble_ ] would have kept worrying, but the lady was offering him food and it smelled good, so he ate it and he forgot to be scared.

The game eventually got underway. Peter and Damian fought because one insisted on creating his own rules and the other was taking the rules in the instruction booklet (which none of the Kents had ever actually read, Clark was surprised to learn that players could skip or repeat turns depending on the roll of the dice) way too seriously, and Damian only conceded when Jon made an offhand comment about his brotherly skills.

Jack, still curled in Lois's lap, refused to physically engage, but he did watch avidly and got upset if anyone ever forgot to roll for him and move his game piece. John lay on the floor trying to rip out bits of the carpet (Clark soon gave him a magazine to tear up). It was distressing that John barely ate, but Damian seemed to be pleased and relieved every time the child absently reached for a chunk of the pizza Clark had cut up for him, as if those tiny bites were an improvement.

Things had calmed down by the end of the game (Jack won). Everyone cleaned up, then Lois suggested that she take Peter for a walk around the apartment building while the older boys did their homework.

"I do not have _homework_ ," Damian said loftily.

Jon frowned, having overheard Bruce and Alfred's instructions to Damian back at the manor. "I thought your dad said that all your work had to be finished before you came home."

"Those research papers are assignments from Pennyworth, not from some substandard excuse for an educational institution."

Jon rolled his eyes. "Fine, I can work on homework and you can work on _assignments from Pennyworth_ together."

"The suggestion that you could ever be useful in a collaborative-"

"Just get your laptop, Damian!"

Lois, as instructed in the Robin Manual, covered Peter with a hat and sunglasses before taking him out. Clark put Jack back to bed when he found that the child had fallen asleep again, and came out to find John over by the window wall. The boy was kneeling right next to it, eyes on the endless stream of cars, arms and forehead pressed against the glass like he wished he could tip straight through it and down to the street many floors below.

"Johnny," Clark said, his voice soft and cautious as he crouched beside the boy, "is there...anything I can get you, or do for you? Is there anything you want?"

John completely ignored him, so after about ten minutes, Clark gave up and brought over his tablet to work on, trying to fight the niggling feeling that a nine-year-old non-meta could somehow break through thick, reinforced windows and fling himself to his death. _'That's impossible, Kent, and even IF he did, you would catch him. It's fine. Do not pick him up and hide him in a back room bundled up in fifty-two blankets, he_ _will not appreciate it_ _.'_

The afternoon passed quietly. While the older boys worked, the adults took turns playing with Peter (who was delightful) and keeping watch over John (not so much), who kept his eyes on the streets of Metropolis. Jack eventually woke up again and nested on the couch, where Peter petted him and brought interesting things to show him, and then started 'reading' books to him in bird language. At one point, when all other attempts to engage with John had failed, Clark tried to enlist the younger birds' help in getting him away from the window, but neither boy would even speak to their brother, as if they already knew any attempt would be useless.

Clark was pretty sure that John, who had shifted a few ( _very_ few) times during the passing hours, fell asleep after he had curled up on the floor, but when Clark made the mistake of trying to move him to a bed, the boy instantly awakened and struggled until he was allowed to plaster himself to the window again. "...This is harder than I thought it would be," Clark muttered. Not physically, but emotionally. There was something exhausting about caring for someone in such pain and being powerless to soothe it.

At one point, when Peter asked to use the toilet, it occurred to Lois that John probably needed to go, too, even though he'd never indicated the need. Clark had to maneuver him in the bathroom, and _boy_ was that awkward, though John himself showed no sign of embarrassment. He was plenty angry, though, snarling and crowing and scratching, going silent only during the actual act of urinating. The minute he was released from the bathroom, he ran to the window to be a gargoyle again.

Damian sat with John and Jack while Peter helped the Kents prepare dinner. John (purposely?) picked that time to lie down and fall asleep, and no one dared wake him, so they covered him with a blanket and set aside a plate of food for him.

Since the children needed to be accompanied at all times, the older boys didn't want to be separated, and the adults didn't feel comfortable sleeping apart from their delicate younger charges, the furniture was re-arranged so that everyone could spend the night in the living room. The floor was covered with an assortment of mattresses and piles of blankets and pillows; everyone lounged around in their sleepwear to eat snacks and marathon all the hilariously bad superhero movies that had been made over the years (excluding all the ones containing Batman).

By about 11:00, everyone was asleep except for Damian, who was idly sketching as a Green Lantern movie from the '90s played on low volume. Clark signed a quick explanation to Damian, kissed Lois, then went to go change - Batman was roaming Metropolis tonight, and it seemed prudent to check on how he was treating Clark's city. Batman had a tendency to overdo it when he was upset, and Superman didn't want to see small-time criminals crippled for life or otherwise punished too harshly. This wasn't Gotham, not much activity here warranted the wrath of a wounded and frustrated Dark Knight.

It was a clear night, and quiet this far above the streets. Superman flew leisurely, searching for bat-shaped shadows or grapple-swinging figures. It took him fifteen minutes, he even stopped at fast food restaurant at one point, but he finally found his friend perched like a gargoyle on an office building a couple of blocks away from the Daily Planet. "I know no one tells you this, but you really do look like a Creature Of The Night when you pose like that."

"...I know," Batman answered in his gravelly on-the-clock voice, not bothering to spare a glance at the newcomer. He did, however, look down at the paper bag Superman dropped at his feet. He said nothing, half his face was covered by the cowl, his mouth barely even twitched, yet his silent stillness managed to be expressive.

"I only said I was getting it for 'a friend,' but she knew it was probably someone from the Justice League. She gave me one of each toy to pass along." He dug through his bag until he pulled out the plastic Batman figurine, and smiled at it fondly. "There was a group of teenagers at a table nearby, they placed bets on which 'friend' it was. Half of them guessed right. They told me to tell you that they think you're really cool, even though Superman's better."

"In Gotham, they have a toy for every Bat," Bruce grumbled. "Damian's collected all of them."

"I bet you have, too."

"I need to check the likenesses. Investigation is warranted if they're too accurate."

"Uh huh."

They were silent as they ate. Clark made it almost halfway through his burger before he heard the siren of an emergency vehicle start up. "Race you there?"

Batman soared off without even bothering to acknowledge. Clark had no idea how he managed to store the bag so quickly, but he didn't throw it away, because half an hour later he was giving it, along with the second burger and fries it contained, to a homeless man. A surreptitious x-ray glance revealed that the toys had been stored in Batman's utility belt. Superman just barely managed to hide his smile.

o.o.o.o.o

There were no catastrophes, but the two heroes were kept busy with a steady string of smaller events that could do with their attention. Batman apparently intended to stay out all night, but Superman returned home at about 1:30. He checked in on everyone (Damian was asleep now, too; once the TV had been turned off, the living room was silent) and then took a quick shower. While he was buttoning his pajama top, his phone lit up with a call from Bruce.

 _"How are the boys?"_ he asked in a low voice, having not had the chance to ask earlier.

"They've been doing okay. Johnny is...not happy, but Peter seems to be enjoying himself. Jack's been sleeping a lot."

 _"Elaborate."_

Clark dutifully gave a detailed report. At the end of it, he asked hesitantly, "Bruce, the withdrawal and the anger, the...just...the way Johnny's been today, is that what you've been dealing with all this time?"

 _"...He's never going to get better is he."_ Batman's voice was full of despair and resignation.

"Bruce, no," Clark said at once. "Bruce. This kid was tortured for months, and it takes far longer to heal than to hurt. He's... I know it's going to be tough, maybe for years to come, but he _will_ get better. You can't give up-"

He nearly dropped the phone at the sound of Joker laughter suddenly bursting through the apartment, soon joined by terrified screams, urgent crowing, and alarmed shouting. Clark sprinted to the living room to find John standing naked by the window, laughing violently, not pausing even when he lashed out every time Damian or Lois tried to get near. Jack looked scared to death, and was clutching his stuffed bear tightly as Peter covered him with his body and crowed. Jon looked petrified.

"What happened?!" Clark cried, unable to see any threat. He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around John, the boy's vicious retaliation having no effect on him.

"I don't know!" Lois said in distress.

Clark stood there helplessly, holding the screaming, writhing boy in his arms. "Damian?!"

"I have no explanation," the teen snarled. He sounded angry, but his heart was beating in a frightened pattern. "Grayson, be QUIET! No one's hurting you!"

It seemed to go on endlessly, still with no sign of any trigger. Jack was sobbing now, Peter clamped on him like a little human shield. Jon had crouched down and was desperately covering his ears, eyes squeezed shut and lips moving as he chanted to himself. Clark had _no_ idea what to do.

 _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_

He had never ended the call on his phone, which he had unthinkingly deposited on the arm of the couch when he rushed in. As soon as Lois realized that the rich, soothing voice was actually having a useful effect on the children, she scrambled to grab it and bring it closer.

 _"_ _ _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_..."_

The laughter and struggling had stopped. John was crying now as he clung to Clark, his voice wailing high and soft in a way that made it easier to hear the singing. As if to compensate for his efforts to quiet himself, his body began to shudder. Clark held him close with one arm and used the other to try to cover him better with the blanket.

The singing went on, going through the lyrics again as the boys slowly calmed down. _"_ _ _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_..."_

By the time of the gentle humming of a third round, Clark was feeling almost hopeful as he cradled the limp, exhausted child in his arms. Lois was starting to relax, continuing to hold the phone as she sat down beside her husband. Across the room, Peter was nestled under Damian's arm and Jack in his lap; Jon had sat down behind Damian and was hugging his knees as he pressed his back against his friend's.

By the time the song ended, it was quiet again. There was a long pause.

Peter raised his head and demanded, with a small quaver in his voice, "Bbee E'wwozzah."

 _"...Bee Arrows?"_

Peter whistled demonstratively, and there was a quiet groan from the phone.

 _"I can't sing that one right now. What about-?"_

"BBEE WWOZZAH, BBA'DD MMAN."

John made a long, soft shrieking sound that threatened to turn into an outright scream soon.

 _"..._ _ _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_..."_

Even after the birds were all asleep and the phone had gone dark, Clark did not dare lay John down. He continued to hold the child, rocking him slightly, praying he would not wake up and start that awful laughter again.

Jon's voice was subdued. "Who was that singing?"

"No one," Damian said immediately.

"What?"

"Ssshh," Clark said. "Don't wake the kids."

Jon rubbed a fist across his face. "Hey, Mom...I forgot to brush my teeth, and I'm out of toothpaste. Can you help me, um...?"

"Of course."

Jon headed for the master bathroom in his parents' suite rather than the one in the hall, and as soon as they reached it, he tugged his mother all the way inside and shut the door. Lois, figuring that this wasn't actually about toothpaste, stroked her hand down his hair and back soothingly.

Jon sounded near tears again when he spoke. "Mom...wh-why are they like that? I've never seen- It's scary. Mom, what's _wrong_ with him?"

"Oh, baby." Lois put her arms around her son, and he clung to her tightly. "I'm sorry they scared you," she said softly.

"Damian said he tries to find ways to _kill_ himself!" He was starting to sob. "Why would he-?! He's only a kid, I thought only older people did that! Why does he want to _die_ , Mom?! Who would- All those scars on him, how could anyone ever _want_ to hurt a kid like that?! He's so little! Why, Mom? _Why_?!"

Jon cried for a long time, and Lois held him tightly until the sobs finally turned to sniffles. "Sometimes people get so sick, even evil, they do things I don't understand, either," she murmured. "Some people are hurt so badly that we don't know how to help them anymore. Sometimes all we can do is let them know that they're not alone." She kissed the top of his head. "I'm proud of you, kiddo, for letting the little ones stay here. I'm proud of you for doing your best to make them feel safe and welcome. They may not be able to show it now, but someday they'll remember how you kind you were to them, and even if they never tell you that it made a difference, it really does. You're doing good, Jonathan."

He sucked in a shaky breath and pulled away slightly. "Damian would never cry just because a kid did a scary laugh for a while."

"You are not Damian, and you know he _was_ upset, he just has a different way of showing it than you do." She ran her hand through his hair. "Jon, I'm glad that you got to grow up with us, so we could love you and keep you safe. You know how to pay it forward to those who weren't so lucky."

"I bet Johnny feels a lot worse than I do," Jon said softly. "And he doesn't get to leave it behind after the weekend, he has to live with it all the time. I wanna _help_ him, but I don't want to mess up and make him mad, or make him feel even worse on accident."

"Just do your best, kiddo. It's okay if you make a mistake; I know your heart is in the right place, and that's the most important part."

Jon nodded. He hugged his mother one last time, then they went back out to the living room.

 _"Dad,"_ Jon asked, too softly for human ears to detect, _"how do you say 'I love you and I want you to feel better' in sign language?"_

Clark did his best to demonstrate with just one hand. Jon repeated it carefully to the sleeping John, then went to curl up on a mattress so that the two younger birds were sheltered between his body and Damian's.

 _"I love you,"_ Lois signed to Clark.

 _"Forever,"_ he signed back.

TBC

 **A/N: I realized, while writing the prequel, that John refuses to eat any meat at all, and the younger two don't like meat that looks/tastes/smells anything like human meat. I'll have to fix that if/when I get around to editing TBWS.**


	55. A Grateful City: Sarah

The Birds Who Smile: A Grateful City - Sarah

(rough draft)

A Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Summary: Batman can still help the citizens of Gotham even when neither of them are technically in Gotham. Takes place in my "The Birds Who Smile" AU, during the night when John has a laughing episode at the Kents' apartment.

o.o.o

She was going to be sick. The meds had helped for a while, she was able to concentrate on a few chapters of her book and she'd even dozed off. But then she'd had another nightmare and had woken up hyperventilating, and now her thoughts were going a million miles an hour and she was going to be sick.

They'd said she would do better in Metropolis. They'd said she would never have to go back to that school, would never even have to go back to Gotham again.

It wasn't _Gotham_ she hated, it was _school_ , in general, and _teenagers_ , people her own age. She missed Pepper, her cousin and best friend, the only friend she had in the world. She missed the convenience store down the street, run by the old lady who'd given her peppermints every visit since she was seven years old. She missed her room, the one she'd painted herself. She missed her cat.

Metropolis might have been sunnier and cleaner than Gotham, but it was _scary_. Complete strangers would greet her, ask her how her day was going, while her Gotham-bred instincts would scream at her to run, it was a trap, some about-to-debut freak setting up their gimmick or traffickers laying their bait or _something_. Despite the bustle of a big city, things were weirdly quiet and calm in a way that usually meant, in Gotham, that a storm of horror was brewing. Every day she was terrified that some giant alien or robot would attack, that Superman would destroy half the city repelling it and that her broken body would be one of those in the wreckage left behind.

Gotham got attacked plenty, but it was by _humans_ , more or less. Human-level damage, human vigilantes and police to combat it. Fear gas attacks, plant invasions, freeze guns, all of it she'd been drilled in emergency procedures for since she was in elementary school, but how could you protect yourself from brawling aliens knocking over whole skyscrapers with every careless strike?

Her chest was tight, and she was fighting to breathe. She pressed her face against the window, desperate for the chill of the cold glass to still her brain, but it raced on. Tomorrow was her first day at the frickin' new school, she was an outsider, they would be able to tell right away she was from Gotham, everyone who wasn't from Gotham looked down on it, called it the worst city in the world. They'd think she was dirty, a freak, mentally unstable. It didn't matter what she wore or how she spoke or how she did her hair and makeup, they'd find _something_ wrong with her, they'd gossip about her and steal or ruin her stuff just like last time, it was going to happen all over again but this time when she was all alone without even Pepper or Littlepaws or Grandma June to make her feel better, she might as well just-

Someone was singing. She gasped and jerked in surprise, then frowned and pressed her ear back to the window. It was someone outside, a man's voice, deep and soothing. She couldn't really hear the lyrics, but after a minute, she thought she could recognize the tune. Something from one of the old-school Disney movies, _Lady and the Tramp_ or _Dumbo_ or something. She was surprised to find that her heart wasn't pounding so hard, as if it was trying to match the slow, calm rhythm of the man's voice.

She peered outside. She didn't have any lights on in her room, so she could make out some details of the roof of the lower wing just outside. There was a dark shape huddled by one of the maintenance boxes out there, that was the man-

She stared, unable to believe her eyes. Those really were little bat ears, outlined against the light of the moon when he shifted his head. She could see the edge of his cape now, and his boots. It was...it was Batman.

 _Batman_ was outside her window, in freaking Metropolis, _singing_. A freaking Disney song. He had a really good voice, too.

She stared some more, shocked and entranced. Had he come all this way...just for her...?

She nearly dozed off wondering, but then the humming finally trailed off and he spoke. She gasped and tensed, thinking at first that he was speaking to her, but he wasn't looking at her. He was gazing off into the distance as he talked, and then she finally realized that he was speaking to someone through some kind of communicator in his cowl. _'That makes way more sense.'_

Still. Even if Batman hadn't come all the way to Metropolis to sing to her, he was still _here_ , outside _her_ window, and it was still really, really nice to hear him sing.

Who was he actually comforting, though? Robin? She kind of liked the idea of that, Batman singing to soothe Robin when he thought no one else in the world was listening.

He soon started up another song, this one not even in English, though it sounded vaguely familiar. Although this one didn't sound as much like a lullaby, the way he sang it was just as relaxing. The next thing she knew, she was waking up, curled up in the sunlight on her windowseat, and there weren't any butterflies left in her stomach at all.

It had never once occurred to her to make a recording. After school (a cheerleader had invited her to eat lunch at their table, and the girls had been kind of shallow and boring, but nice enough and not stuck up at all, and honestly it had just been a relief to have _anyone_ to sit with at lunch), she did visit the _I See Bat People_ forum.

She hadn't intended to add her story, but after she had read through dozens and dozens of others, anecdotes like the one about Red Robin paying someone's utility bills, or Red Hood rescuing a pregnant dog from a burning building and then staying to help deliver the puppies, or Nightwing showing up in full uniform at a toy store to buy a Christmas present for Robin, she felt...very much like a Gothamite, in a good way. She was proud of her city's vigilantes, and she loved them just like everyone else on this site did, and she wanted to share what a Bat, what Batman himself, had done for her, probably without even realizing how much he had helped.

She typed her story. She took a deep breath and clicked the Post button. Over the course of the evening, she periodically checked on the response to it. And when she went to bed that night, she barely even remembered to think about school at all.

o.o.o

A/N: For those who don't know, I have a vignette series called _A Grateful City_ (within "Just One More (and other stories)") that is from the perspective of various Gothamites who encounter the Bats. This vignette functions as both a TBWS side-story and an installment of AGC.


	56. Chapter 54

A/N: Sorry for the delay! First I was having yet more troubles with my computer (still haven't had a chance to buy a new one, though I did eventually figure out how to fix the new problem), and then a lot of good but stressful things have been happening offline.

 _ **The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Scene I forgot in the previous chapter (rough draft)**

When Lois started to run a bath for Peter, he looked around the room in confusion. _"Gone!"_

"What's gone, sweetie?"

He pointed at the wall opposite the tub. There was nothing there but a decorative picture and a towel rack.

"Did you forget something at home?"

 _"Me [chirp-chirp] bath, [warble] shower."_

As Lois was trying to remember which brother was the chirp one and which was the warble one, Damian leaned into the bathroom. "Listen, Todd, this is a plebeian bathing room. They cannot afford a decent size or a full range of equipment, so they are forced to use only one combined tub and shower. You can only wash one way or the other, not both."

Peter made a long, thoughtful whistle as he looked around again.

"We can't all live in mansions," Lois said dryly.

 _ **The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 54 (rough draft)**

John and Jack slept late, past eleven in the morning. By that time, the others had eaten breakfast, Damian and Jon had taken Peter down to the apartment building's playground on the ground floor, and the adults were both doing housework in between making phone calls for work.

John awakened first, but the Kents didn't notice because he just sat there, blank-faced and unmoving, blankets pooled around the lower half of his otherwise still-unclothed body. It only became apparent he was awake when Jack opened his eyes, popped upright, and exclaimed, "I hhungee!"

"Oh! Hey there, buddy. Oh, Johnny's up, too!"

"What would you boys like to eat?" Lois asked, opening the refrigerator. "Leftovers from breakfast, or do you want to just get straight to lunch?" She and her husband were both disconcerted when Jack stripped off all his clothes and came trotting into the kitchen.

"Whoa there, uh- How about we get your clothes back on, buddy?"

"Yyucky," Jack said, unconcerned, trying to climb onto a chair.

"Ooookay, how about this," Clark said, bringing over a blanket to cover the boy in the meantime, "you eat a cinnamon roll, then get dressed, and then you can have the rest, okay?"

It turned out that Jack didn't want his clothes because they were uncomfortable with dried sweat - his fever had finally broken while he'd slept. Once he had eaten his cinnamon roll and bathed, he was quite happy to be dressed in a fresh outfit. John showed zero interest in getting dressed, but at least he didn't resist when they maneuvered a clean set of clothes onto him as well.

"There we go, isn't that much better?"

"..."

By then, the other boys had returned. Damian, seeing John sitting motionless next to his untouched meal, got down on his knees in front of the boy's chair, bringing the plate with him. He cupped John's cheek gently with one hand and fed him piece by piece. They gazed at each other the whole time, serious and silent, and John finished nearly everything on his plate before he abruptly jerked his head away, kicked Damian in the chest, and ran to throw himself at the sky.

Clark, too startled to react in time, wasn't able to get to John before the boy's body collided with the window, but he did grab him when John continued assaulting the transparent wall, knocking his head against it, scratching it, pounding on it with his fists, all without a sound except for soft grunts of effort. He writhed in Clark's arms and then shifted his assault to Superman, who tried to hold John in such a way that the boy could vent without hurting himself. Furious screams and crowing started to fill the apartment. Lois had tried to comfort the little ones, but they didn't actually seem too upset, which was a little disturbing in and of itself.

Peter, eating steadily, watched his older brother for a minute before turning away. Jack sadly sucked and chewed on the fidget hanging from his neck. When the screams started, Peter signed, _"Too loud,"_ grabbed one last fistful of food, put his other arm around his smaller brother, and led Jack away into the guest room.

Damian was still on the floor, elbows propped on the chair John had vacated, face buried in his hands, shoulders bowed helplessly. Jon came over and patted him. "You did your best. You did a good job. It's not your fault he's mad."

"What do you know, Kent?" Damian snarled, but didn't even look up. After a moment, he leaned into his friend's side as Jon kept an arm around him.

The tantrum finally ended when John twittered savagely at Clark and the others, _"Hate you hate you hate you!"_ with his hands echoing the sentiment. Then he threw himself onto the couch with his arm over his head and went silent.

The others were very subdued as they cleaned up. After a minute, Peter poked his head out of the guest room, then asked cheerfully, "Plllay ggame?"

"Well...we were going to go out to the Sunny Horizons Gallery, but I don't know if Johnny's feeling up to it, sweetie."

Peter fetched Elephant and set it on top of John before trotting away again without waiting to see how his offering would be accepted. John did not move for a long moment, but then pulled Elephant down into his arms and hugged it tight. Meanwhile, Peter tried to pick up the board game from the night before, and dropped the box, spilling the pieces everywhere. " _Oh_ nnoooo! Nno may Ggam'pa kkeen u'pp!" He busily started picking everything up, joined by Lois and Clark.

Jack ventured out near his brother, watching. _"You dropped it."_

 _"Too big! Hard to hold."_

 _"Big people not mad."_

 _"Good big people."_

On the couch, John rolled over to face his brothers and wailed in bird language, _"When is Master coming?!"_

[ _caw_ ] went over to him. _"Bat comes, you kill him. Bat doesn't come, we play. No chains no hurt no Laugh, much food!"_

They looked at each other for a long moment. _"Tired,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] whimpered.

[ _caw_ ] petted him. _"Sleep."_

 _"Heart-tired."_

 _"I'm glad they won't let you die."_

 _"Angry!"_

[ _caw_ ] flicked him in a way that meant _"Lol, I don't care"_ and then went to set up the game the way _he_ wanted to play it. [ _warble_ ] watched. He didn't like to play the game [ _caw_ ]'s way, but he did like to watch his flockmate move the pieces around.

o.o.o.o.o

They did eventually go to the gallery. At first, they were only going to bring the younger children, but when John saw that his brothers were being readied to go out, he rushed to the door and clung to them, not stopping Lois and Damian from putting on his hat, sunglasses, and shoes.

Sunny Horizons Gallery was designed for children to have free rein to express themselves artistically. The Kents, after paying the entrance fee, showed the boys around. The rooms were large and sunny, with walls (and floors) made to be painted or drawn on and then cleaned on a nightly basis, ready for the next day's art. There were rooms for sculpting clay, making jewelry, and crocheting. There were disposable cameras available, and a theater for stage performances. There were typing machines and printers, art supplies of all kinds and endless amounts of paper. There was even a supervised kitchen with simple recipes. Attendants went around praising and chatting and playing with the children, and recording all the art, especially on the walls, that wasn't portable. Children who made smaller creations were allowed to take them home.

"What would you boys like to play with first?" Lois asked.

Jack, who had already obtained one of the disposable cameras, tossed it away in disgust and pulled out his phone.

"Don't _throw_ it, Drake! If you don't want it, just give it back." After a brief 'treat items with respect' lesson, the group began to drift apart. Lois and Peter ended up in the kitchen just in time for the next cooking class; Jon followed Jack around as the little boy snapped photos.

Damian was drawn to the walls. He picked up a jar of paint and a brush, reaching above the heads of the children working nearby.

In the same room, Clark was sticking close to John, who looked withdrawn, tired, and bored. "Do you want to try the paints, Johnny?" Clark coaxed, setting a paintbrush into the boy's hand. "Look." Hand-over-hand, he dipped it into the blue paint and gently streaked it across the wall. "They'll let you do this here. Do you want to make a picture, or just use abstract colors?"

John dropped the brush. He looked at a nearby jar of red paint and plunged his hand into it. Then he drew his hand back out and stared at his fingers, which now looked like they were dripping glops of blood.

Clark shifted uneasily. "Uhh, you want to maybe try-?"

John abruptly flung what was left of the red paint at the wall. A manic spark lit in his eyes. He seized the entire jar and hurled it, the impact against the wall startling half the people in the room. A couple of children who'd been splashed by the paint began to cry. John seized two more jars, but Clark managed to catch him and pry them out of his hands before he could throw them. "Okay, I think we need a break. Come on, Johnny."

The since the boy was now screaming and struggling, Clark was afraid to take him outside, where people might think the child was being kidnapped. One of the attendants showed him a quiet, empty room where he could hold John until the boy's shrieks turned to low growls. Clark sneaked outside and then took off into the clouds.

John calmed at once. He sat in Clark's arms for a while, looking around, then started trying to climb over his shoulder again. This time, Clark let him, carefully keeping a hand closed around the boy's calf. John lay across Clark's back and eventually fell asleep. The Kryptonian flew on, circling the city over and over until Lois called him to say they were ready to leave.

o.o.o.o.o

Meanwhile, the younger birds were having the time of their lives. Once Peter had finished eating the treat he had made, he grabbed fistfuls of crayons and happily scribbled them over the walls (Lois hastily had to stop him from interfering with other children's work). He spread out a huge piece of butcher paper on the floor of one room and began to paint it, blobby shapes that represented his loved ones. In the jewelry room, he had no interest in creating any pieces himself, but he did quite enjoy plunging his hands into the buckets of beads, stimming off the sensation of many small, smooth pieces across his skin. That occupied him for quite a while, and once he had finally tired of that, he started sorting beads into piles based on some sort of pattern in his head.

Jack had made his way back to the theater room. He spent a lot of time playing dress-up with Jon backstage before his attention was caught by the rigging. He pulled and pushed at it, figuring out how it worked, and was delighted to be able to change the stage backdrops (Jon helped manage the weight). The six-year-old enlisted Superboy's help in drawing the curtains closed and then open again, and eventually convinced him to fly them up to the service walkway near the ceiling. They soon got caught by an attendant, who lectured them about safety but then took them to the control room and taught them how to work the lights and soundboard. Jack was delighted and continued to play with the settings long after Jon started getting bored.

Damian was in a world of his own. He'd fetched a ladder so he could continue creating his mural, which soon prompted a couple of alarmed attendants to try to get him down.

"Do you know who you're talking to, fools? My father is Bruce Wayne. If you continue to interfere, he will buy this whole gallery and then you'll _have_ to allow the new owner's son to do whatever he wants." When he demonstrated that he could fall off the ladder without injury and still didn't manage to convince them, he called his father, who immediately made such a large donation/bribe to the gallery that the attendants, who by now had been joined by the manager, reluctantly backed off.

By late afternoon, the boys seemed ready to leave, but Damian was still absorbed in his work. Lois shook her head and told him they'd be back to pick him up at closing time. She wondered, when he merely grunted in acknowledgment, if he'd actually heard her, but figured that Batman's son could handle himself unaccompanied in Metropolis.

Clark sooned joined them, and John awakened, grumbling, when he was gently set on his feet. The Kents took the birds to a dessert shop to pass the time.

"Dad?" Jon asked, absently warding off Peter's efforts to poke him with a spoon, "Was that _Batm-_ I mean, was it Mr. Wayne singing last night?"

"Have you been thinking about that all this time?" Lois laughed.

"I didn't wanna ask when Damian was around."

"Don't tell anyone," Clark murmured fondly, "but yes. He doesn't like to, but he will if it's necessary to help a loved one. He sang once to save Diana from an enchantment."

"That's really cool! I wonder what all the bad guys in Gotham would think if they heard him sing."

"I suspect that's one of the reasons he avoids it."

"Kind of silly, though," Lois remarked, using a napkin to mop up the spoonful of sorbet Jack had accidentally flipped across the table. "It still hurts regardless of whether your butt is kicked by a good singer or a bad singer."

"I think he just doesn't want anyone to associate him with singing, period," Clark chuckled.

Peter banged on the table to get their attention. _"More, please!"_

"Maybe later, Peter, after we feed you guys dinner."

When they went to collect the birds' brother, all of them just stood there for a while, staring at the wall Damian had taken over. "Me! Me!" Jack said, pointing. "[ _chirp-chirp_ ] [ _caw_ ]!"

"That's right, Jack," Clark murmured. "Damian painted you and your brothers."

The lower part of the wall was filled with a sea of sinister black. Rising out of it were three winged child figures, more Impressionist than Damian's usual style. The one in the center, clearly a depiction of John despite the indistinct face, was ripping the dark ocean's binding tendrils from his body, determined to free himself as his wings unfurled. To one side, Jack had his face uplifted to the light for the first time as the dark bonds fell away; on the other, Peter leaped enthusiastically from the depths, brandishing his own torn fetters in triumph.

"Johnny," Jon said, gently setting a hand on the boy's shoulder as he pointed at his friend's painting, "that's what Damian wants- that's what we _all_ want for you, to be free and happy. Maybe you feel like everything's dark and scary, but the bad things are over now and we'll all help pull you out, okay?"

John jerked away, turning his back to the painting. He slowly dropped to his hands and knees, then sounded like he was trying to make himself throw up. Clark hastily picked him up and carried him away. Damian silently put his arm around his friend, who hid his face in Damian's shoulder and curled a fist into his shirt. "What did I do wrong...?!"

"You did fine. Grayson simply does not want to be helped right now," Damian said tightly. He drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "We must be patient until he is ready," he added quietly, speaking to himself as much as to Jon.

Peter and Jack looked confused and anxious at John's reaction, so Lois tugged them close for reassuring kisses. She took a photo with her phone to preserve the painting for her own family and for the Waynes, then took the children's hands. "Let's go, kiddos. Kara's going to join us for dinner."

The meal was uneventful, though lively enough with Kara's chatter to cheer up her young cousin-once-removed and soothe everyone but John, who spent the meal methodically destroying his food and barely eating any of it. Afterward, everyone helped clean up and pack the children's luggage.

 _"We go away?!"_ Jack asked in alarm.

"You're going back home, sweetie. But we really had fun, maybe you can come stay with us again sometime."

The little boy started to get panicky until John said something harsh in bird language. Jack went to curl up on the couch with Bear and gnaw on his chew fidget, but he did calm down. Peter stomped around the apartment, loudly protesting in all his languages that he did not _want_ to go back to Bat and he wanted to stay _here_. He was so mad that he refused to say goodbye to anyone and tried to beat his fists against Jon's head when the older boy hoisted him up into a piggyback hold, but once in the sky, Peter calmed down. He wrapped his arms around Jon's neck and grumbled, watching the stars.

Jack and Kara chatted to each other, but John was silent as usual. At one point, he leaned back to sign, _"You fly away?"_

"We're...flying right now, yes," Clark replied, a little confused.

John frowned impatiently. _"Fly away from Batman."_

"We're...flying... _toward_ Batman," Clark said cautiously. "But don't worry, no one's going to hurt-"

 _"YOU fly away from Batman!"_ John said in exasperation. _"I stay."_

"Yes, but Johnny, no one's going to hurt you. I'll visit you sometimes, and you and your brothers can come play with us again. You'll be safe, Johnny."

The boy made a long, noisy sigh of frustration, then climbed up to lie on Superman's back with his arms around the Kryptonian's neck and watch the lights on the ground below as they flew. Clark lightly grasped the child's arm to make sure he didn't jump or fall off.

They reached Wayne Manor without incident. Alfred was waiting on the terrace, and stooped to hug Peter and Jack when they ran to him immediately. John's face was all business as he marched up to the butler. _"Batman."_

"Master Bruce and Master Damian will be home later tonight. You, however, will be sound asleep in bed by then, Master John."

 _"Batman gone?"_

"He is not here at the moment."

John turned away and tried to push over a chair.

Clark wearily wrapped his arm around the boy's chest and picked him up; John kicked peevishly. "I think I'll help you get them ready for bed."

"That would be appreciated, Mr. Kent."

During the weekend, Dick had recovered enough to leave with Wally to Titans Tower. Cassandra was out of the wheelchair by now, and the only one still ill was Tim, who was on the mend and finally had an easier time sleeping. Maya had left the manor; Stephanie was currently out on patrol with Duke. Cassandra had agreed to stay behind to guard the birds when they arrived, and until then, was keeping an eye on things in the cave while Alfred tended to the youngest masters.

By the time Bruce arrived home, the Kryptonians had left. As soon as Damian had dumped his luggage in his room, he went to relieve his grandfather of tech support duty so that Alfred could go to bed. Bruce took fifteen minutes to meditate in his room, refreshing himself, then rose to join his children on patrol.

He'd taken two steps down the hall when the birds' bedroom door abruptly swung open. "John?" Bruce said in surprise.

The boy marched over to him and stared, angry and expectant.

"What do you need?"

No answer.

"Johnny, you need to go back to sleep." He reached to set a hand on the boy's back, and as expected, John shied away, though he continued to glare. Bruce herded him back up the hall, angled himself so that he wouldn't be visible to the occupants of the room when he adjusted the door, and tried to push John inside. Cassandra appeared.

 _"You take him, I go,"_ Bruce said in body language.

Cassandra looked down at her little brother, and snapped her fingers in front of his face to draw his attention away from Bruce. _"You want bad/angry, but I say no. Come inside; Bruce-him go away."_

John snapped his teeth at her.

 _"NO,"_ she wordlessly snarled back, making it clear with her face and body that she would not allow this. _"You be angry, that's okay, but you will let Bruce-him go."_

 _"ANGRY!"_

 _"Yes."_

John sank his teeth deep into his own arm. By the time Bruce and Cassandra had pried him off of himself and bandaged him, the younger birds had awakened from the commotion and were now huddled under the desk, Jack crying.

 _'I hate this,'_ Bruce thought. _'Absolutely NOTHING changed after a weekend away from the manor.'_ He looked at his son. _'I need to do something about those teeth.'_ "John," he said out loud, "do not bite. If you bite yourself or anyone else again, I will make sure you _can't_ anymore, do you understand? Do not bite people."

John bared fangs at him that still gleamed with remnants of blood.

 _"Go,"_ Cassandra gestured wearily.

Bruce turned away, feeling like he was caught in an endless nightmare.

o.o.o.o.o

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] couldn't believe it. Still. _Still_. Master was STILL PRETENDING, he would never stop. He was waiting for [ _chirp-chirp_ ] to believe him. He was waiting for [ _chirp-chirp_ ] to think he was finally, finally safe, and then when [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was happy and relaxed and not expecting it, Master would Laugh and grab him and hurt him until he died.

No more. _No more._ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] would never, never believe Master, he would never die like that, thinking he was safe and then _hurting_ so much to see it was another another ANOTHER lie. No more waiting. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] would kill Master, or make Master kill him quick, or find another way to die. Nothing else mattered anymore.

 _"Goodbye,"_ he told his flockmates.

They cried, but they understood. _"Goodbye, [chirp-chirp]."_

He hugged them one last time, then waited for morning.

TBC

A/N: FINALLY. All this has really been the prelude; John vs. Bruce starts next chapter. Hopefully I can squeeze it into three chapters or less, but given my track record, I doubt it.

When I imagination-wrote this chapter, I was frustrated that I could not adequately describe Damian's painting, so I was like, "Darn it! I'm gonna have to draw it, aren't I." But when I wrote the chapter for real, I ended up finding the right words after all. XD I still drew a "storyboard"-type sketch, if you're curious. I am NOT an artist, I would like to be someday but I simply can't seem to find the time to practice any of the new skills I would like to learn. Since I'm still so bad at drawing, I didn't have the time or motivation to draw Damian's picture properly, so this is just a very rough concept. [FFN doesn't allow links, so either look up this chapter on AO3 and use the link there, or check my DeviantArt gallery or WordPress index.]

For those who missed it and don't mind minor spoilers, in "Just One More (and other stories)," there's a new fluffy TBWS vignette that takes place in the far future, featuring Mar'i Grayson and her bird uncles. Though I realized right after posting that there's a giant mistake in it. *facepalm*

Also, this has nothing to do with TBWS, but I posted Dick's installment of a four-part "Children's librarian!Bruce Wayne" AU. XD

Medli art on AO3!


	57. Deleted sequence: Original John v Bruce

_The Birds Who Smile_ , a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Deleted sequence: The original version of "John vs. Bruce" (rough draft)

 **A/N: I wrote this a looooooong time ago (for example, the F-bomb here was originally going to be the only one in this fic X''''D), but the more I progressed on the story properly, the more outdated this version of the "John vs. Bruce" story arc became. In the end, I've decided to only save the finale for the real story, but I also liked everything that came before that, so I'm posting it as a deleted sequence.**

o.o.o

With no change of expression, John punched him hard in the face.

Bruce fell back, gasping in shock. John had immediately taken a step or two back, staring, wide-eyed, his breathing quickening, clutching his hands together as his shoulders hunched.

"Why did you-?" He knew why. He'd been through this before, with Jason and, to a lesser extent, Damian. _'Damn.'_ The next few days, possibly weeks, were not going to be enjoyable.

Bruce took a deep breath. "Everything's fine. I know why you did that, I'm not angry, I'm not going to hurt you or punish you. You're safe."

John stared at him.

Bruce held out a hand. "Come on. Let's go see what Alfred's made for lunch."

John flew at him, but Bruce was ready this time. Two seconds later, he had the boy in a restraining hold. "John," he said to the struggling child, "I'm not angry, but I can't let you hurt people. I'm not going to punish you, but I will not let you hurt people. You're not in trouble. You're safe. Do not hurt people."

"Hhhhh... Hhhhate yyoouuu!" John jerked his head sharply backward, but Bruce was already keeping his face out of the way, and the boy's head thudded mostly harmlessly against the man's shoulder. "Hhhhh- Hhhhhittt mme! Hhhhhurttt mme!"

"No. I will not. I will never hit you."

"Hhhhh! HAAAAHHHH!"

The screaming and struggling went on for ten exhausting minutes. A concerned Alfred showed up at one point, but he understood after only an exchange of silent glances with Bruce. "Master John, whenever you are ready, your lunch is waiting for you," the butler said calmly, and left.

At last, the boy gave up. He hung in Bruce's arms for a while, panting, then raised his head to glare out of the corner of his eye. "I...hhhurt yyou."

"Yes, you did. I know you're scared. I know the man who abused you made you think that you will never be safe. I know you're trying to hurt me so that you'll find out how much I will hurt you when I lose control, but I'm telling you right now, John, things are different here. I will never, ever strike a child, no matter how angry I get. Do you understand? I will never hit you, John. I will never chain you or forbid you to speak or try to alter your mind. I _love_ you."

John seemed to shut down. It was like a curtain drew down over his face and eyes, and he said demurely, "Llllove yyou, Ddaddy."

Bruce knew this wasn't over, but John seemed to have given up for now, so he nodded and cautiously released the boy.

John rubbed at his wrists. "Hhhurtss," he said dolefully.

Bruce gently took the boy's hands, not commenting on the fact that they started to tremble a little in his grasp. "I'm sorry I had to restrain you, John. I know I didn't squeeze too hard." He had been careful not to, knowing how his own strength compared to the child's. "It doesn't look like it's going to bruise, but I'll keep an eye on it, just in case." He gently rested his hand on the side of John's face. "How are you feeling?"

 _"I'm okay."_

"Are you scared, or angry? Do you want to go lie down for a while, or eat lunch, or play, or read?"

 _"I love you, Dad. I'm hungry."_

"All right. Let's go eat, then."

Bruce stayed on guard. He was ready for it when, the next day, John bounced up to hug him, then suddenly tried to bite him.

A brief struggle ensued, and then John was screaming in a restraining hold again. He shrieked and cried and struggled, and when he finally stopped, he was shaking like a leaf.

"I told you yesterday, John. I know why you're doing this. I wish you'd stop, and I won't let you hurt anyone, but I'm not angry and I'm not going to punish you."

"HHHATE YYOOOUU!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way. I don't hate you; I love you very much."

"HAAAAHHH!" He was sobbing again.

The next few days were awful. John broke things, tore things, threw things, shouted terrible things at his father. Bruce and Alfred pointedly overlooked most of the bad behavior and didn't clean up anything unless John had calmed down and was helping them. They both told John they loved him multiple times a day.

Then John managed to interfere with the comm system during patrol one night, and Batman and Robin nearly died due to the tampering.

"I'll teach that little brat what happens to-!"

" _No_. I will handle this. Stay at one of the safe houses tonight; I'm going to have enough trouble with John as it is, without you riled up and burning for revenge."

"He could have gotten us killed!"

"It won't happen again."

Bruce deliberately calmed himself on the drive home. He was deeply upset about Damian's wholly unnecessary brush with death, and he was planning to try a new tactic, but he had to be devoid of anger first.

John was waiting in the Cave. When Bruce jumped out of the Batmobile and stormed toward him, the boy backed away, signing quickly, _"Hello Batman Dad I used the computer I'm a bad boy, I'm a bad boy."_

Bruce shoved back the cowl as he continued to advance, since keeping it on would have been too much. "YOU KNOW TO NEVER TOUCH THE COMPUTER WHEN WE'RE ON PATROL," he thundered. "YOU _KNOW_ THAT, JOHN." It was tricky to pour so much fury into his voice and body language without letting the actual emotion rise up with it, but he'd practiced this sort of thing since long before he became Batman. If it was necessary for John to see him 'lose' control, then he would put on whatever act his son needed, but he refused to genuinely lose control and reaffirm the boy's fears.

John backed away from him until his back hit a wall. He slid down it until he reached the floor, looking incredibly tiny as he stared up at the raging man looming over him.

"YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN ME KILLED. YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN _ROBIN_ KILLED. IT IS UNACCEPTABLE TO PUT ANY OF YOUR SIBLINGS IN SUCH DANGER, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, JOHN?"

John kept staring up at him, completely still.

"THIS NEEDS TO STOP. THIS NEEDS TO _STOP_ , RIGHT NOW. NO MORE HITTING, NO MORE TANTRUMS, NO MORE SABOTAGE. FROM NOW ON, YOU WILL _BEHAVE_."

The child's hands were shaking badly, but he finally managed to form a response: _"Fuck you."_

Bruce stared down at him. It was clear that John was terrified, but there was also defiance in his expression. His chin was lifted even as he looked like he expected a fist to come crashing into him at any moment.

"...John."

 _"You're angry?"_

"Yes, I am very angry with you."

 _"You'll hit me now?"_

"No. But you did cross a line and you _are_ going to be punished. You're grounded. No school or friends or anything fun for three days. You are going to study and work, that's it."

 _"Hit me, put me in a cage. I'm bad. I hurt Robin."_

"I will never hit you or imprison you. You're a good boy who's frightened and angry right now. I expect you to _never_ do anything to hurt any of your siblings ever again."

John burst into tears. _"I'm bad, I hurt Robin... I'm bad..."_

Bruce hauled him to his feet. John panicked and resisted briefly, but stopped when he found that he was being marched out of the cave rather than beaten. Bruce put him in his room and took all the toys and games away and shut the door, then went to his own room to bury his face in his arms for a while.

John was very quiet during his grounding. He avoided Bruce and worked hard and cried a lot, softly, refusing comfort even from Alfred. He was quiet the whole day afterward, even when he was allowed to play and go to school again.

Then came the afternoon when Bruce walked into his room and found all his old books on the floor. The picture books that his mother and father had read to him as a child. They were on the floor and lying open and battered, and John was slowly, pointedly ripping another page in half, staring right at Bruce as he did so.

"STOP!"

He might have shoved harder than he'd meant to. He picked up the book like it was an injured child and stared at it, aghast, fingertips hovering over the torn edge, a lump rising in his throat. _'Mother touched these books. Father touched these books. They're ruined. He ruined-'_

He whirled and seized the boy. He wasn't...quite sure what happened next, but now he had John pinned to the bed, he could feel _fury_ surging through his veins like fire, John was shaking and whimpering and gasping for breath as he gazed up at Bruce with terror and defiance and resignation in his eyes.

Bruce made himself loosen the grip he had on John's wrists. _'Too tight. It'll probably bruise. I hurt him.'_ He replayed his memory. He hadn't done anything to John other than grab him and force him down, and use too much pressure when holding him...but that was bad enough. John couldn't say much with his hands immobilized, but it was plain to read on his face: _"I knew it. Here it comes. I knew it."_

Bruce forced himself to let go. John stared at him. Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but then John darted his fingers at the man's eyes, and Bruce had to catch him and pin him down again. "STOP."

John's eyes moved upward to fix on the ceiling. He waited.

"I am not going to beat you, but God DAMN it, John, you hurt me! You _knew_ how much this would hurt me!"

Tears began to slip from the boy's eyes, but he still lay motionless, staring at the ceiling.

"How long is this going to go on?! How far are you going to go?! You're really aiming for my heart, aren't you!"

" _crow_ "

Bruce gave him a brief shake. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. "NO. NO. You are not a bird, you are a _boy_ , a vicious, clever little boy who knows exactly how to-" He clenched his teeth together to force himself to stop talking. He made himself back away, step by step, and started to calm his breathing.

John lay where he'd been left for a minute without moving. Finally he sat up and looked at Bruce. _"...Angry?"_

"You're damn right I'm angry." Maybe, the last time, John had been able to tell. Maybe he'd sensed that Bruce had only been faking before.

 _"I'm sorry."_

"No, you're not."

 _"I'm not sorry."_ He hunched apprehensively as he signed.

"Are you trying to hurt me, John?"

 _"Yes."_

"Do you hate me, John?"

 _"...No."_

"Are you trying to hurt me because you're afraid of me?"

 _"..."_

"Well, you're succeeding. You _are_ hurting me, and maybe you should be afraid of me, too." Bruce moved toward him again.

John started to scrabble away, now terrified and not defiant anymore when the man approached, but all Bruce did was gently lift his arms to inspect his wrists.

"Damn it, these _are_ going to bruise. I hurt you, you were right about me all along... If you contact the right people, they can take you out of my house and I'll have no right to stop them."

John started to cry.

"Do you want to keep living with me, even though you've feared me from day one and I'm the same man as the one who tortured you? Or do you want to go live with someone else, someone more well-adjusted than me who knows what the hell to do with abused children?"

 _"I want to die."_

"No, Johnny... No, no, don't say things like that..."

Bruce gathered the boy into his arms to hug him. John tried to pull his shirt off; Bruce set a hand on his chest to stop him.

 _"My heart hurts!"_

"I know. I know, chum. Mine does, too."

o.o.o.o.o

Bruce woke up in the middle of the night to a sharp pain in his side, and the bloodied blade glinted in the light from the window as John raised it to strike again.

"JOHN." Bruce limped his way toward Alfred's room near the kitchen, bellowing for his butler as he kept one hand pressed against the bleeding wound in his side and one hand clamped, probably too firmly, around his screaming son's wrists.

Alfred blanched when he opened the door. "Good Lord."

"He _stabbed_ me!"

Alfred took charge at once, herding his two deeply upset charges to the kitchen, where he could access running water and a first aid kit.

"YOU stay put!" Bruce stormed, swinging John around and shoving him down into a corner, just barely managing to temper his strength. John crouched there, hissing, too upset to even sign. "You _stabbed_ me! Even Jason at his worst never tried to kill me!" Before the crowbar, obviously.

"Master Bruce, if you will sit down here so I can stitch you up," Alfred said firmly, steering him away.

"What do I do with him, Alfred! I can't spank him, I can't deny him food, grounding OBVIOUSLY has no effect-"

"Master Bruce, be quiet. Master John, stop that uncivilized noise at once."

Both of the young masters shut up. Bruce sat seething, looking anywhere but at his son; John, when Alfred harshly forbid him from carving lines into his own skin with his fingernails, settled for carving lines into the wall instead.

As soon as Alfred had shut the first aid kit with a snap, he marched toward the corner with the iciest expression Bruce had ever seen on his face. "Master John, if you would be so kind, pray tell me exactly _what you thought you were doing tonight_?"

John stared up at him in horror, looking struck to the heart.

"You will give me an explanation _at once_."

 _"...Mistake."_

"It certainly was a mistake," Alfred stormed. "I understand you have yet to overcome the abhorrent treatment you suffered in the past, but this has gone _too far_. Take it out on the house if you must, but I _will not_ tolerate you causing such deliberate, malicious harm to any person in this family."

John burst into tears, curling into himself with his arms over his head.

Alfred let him cry for a moment. Then, although it was difficult for him to get down on the hard floor at his age, he knelt and placed a hand on the child's heaving shoulders. "Master John, I love you deeply," he said in a gentler tone. "And your father, Master Bruce, loves you as well. We forgive you, and we beg you to stop. I wish you and your father nothing but peace and happiness, my dear boy."

 _"You hate me. I'm bad. Alone cold dark, I want to hurt, I love you, Dad is angry, Bad Laugh Man makes me cold dark hurts me, I'm scared, Dad is not Him Dad is Him Dad will hurt me, when will he hurt me? Why?"_

Alfred gathered John into his arms. "My dear boy...my dear, precious boy... We love you so much, we would give the world to keep you safe, dear child..."

Bruce knelt beside them. "John."

The boy tensed in Alfred's embrace.

"John. I'm sorry for losing my temper." He reached to caress his son's hair. "You're a good boy, you have been such a light in our lives, just like Dick and all your brothers and sister were before you. I know you're hurting even more than I am right now. I'm sorry, and I love you, and I don't ever want to hurt you. Alfred was completely right, we would give the world to protect you."

John struggled free. He tried to pull off his clothes, but they stopped him; he set Bruce's hands around his own throat and tried to squeeze his fingers tighter. "Kkkilll mme."

" _No_. No, John. No."

 _"Please hurt me."_

"No. You are safe. We love you, we will not hurt you."

"Wwwhhhy?!"

"You are a good boy, a precious boy, we love you, we want you to be safe and happy."

 _"I am a bird! [crow]!"_

"You are a human boy. We love you."

John wept.


	58. Deleted scene: Psychiatry Fail

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Deleted scene: Psychiatry Fail (rough draft)**

A/N: I have a lot of ideas that will never work for the main story, but since I'm writing at least some of them anyway, might as well post them.

This installment _is_ crossposted on all my sites.

o.o.o

 _"I give you: the FLYING GRAYSONS! Witness this amazing family - father, mother, and son - perform feats such as you've never seen before...!"_

o.o.o

Predictably, John would not take the medication, either by swallowing the pills or by eating or drinking anything they had been crushed and mixed into.

"Johnny," Dick coaxed, kneeling in front of him and taking his hands, "you know how you've been so scared and unhappy? This medicine is supposed to help with that. It's to help you feel better, so you can relax and not be so scared all the time. We put it in the pudding, I know you like pudding because _I_ like pudding, and it makes the medicine taste better. Nothing bad will happen, Johnny."

The boy showed absolutely no reaction, and turned his face away when a spoonful of drug-laced pudding was brought to his mouth.

"Johnny, _please_! You _have_ to take it, and if you don't take it like this, then you're going to have to take it a not-fun way."

John was unmoved, at the height of Grayson stubbornness. When Bruce, Alfred, and Dick finally got at least some of the pills into him by mixing a dose with juice and administering it with an oral syringe, John promptly vomited it back up and then looked at his tormentors with an expression that would have had half of Gotham's criminals fleeing for their lives.

"John," Bruce said darkly, and the boy shrank back in fear. "You _will_ take your medication, and if you don't cooperate with the treats or the syringe, we're going to use a needle. Do you understand? Either you take the pills yourself, or I will _make_ you take them."

John stared back, afraid and silent.

"I'm going to call your doctor."

They got the medication in a form that could be injected, then gave John one last chance, presenting him with a treat, a syringe, and a capped needle. He trembled and sang in agonized birdsong and cried, then at last, he reached out a shaking hand to the little cup of pudding. He could barely get it down no matter how carefully they fed it to him, and then a moment later, he threw it back up, not even deliberately this time. Dick, already harassed and hanging by a thread, took one look at his little counterpart's stricken, tear-stained face and burst into tears himself.

"It's not your fault," Bruce said heavily, resting a hand on Dick's back because John would not find his touch comforting. "John, it's not your fault. I know you're upset, the medicine will help with that, but I understand why it's difficult for you to take it."

 _"Kill me,"_ the boy signed shakily.

"Johnny..."

The child looked like an empty little husk beyond resisting when they held him still and injected him. It was a relief to everyone when he fell asleep soon afterward.

o.o.o.o.o

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] felt strange when he woke up. Maybe it was the light, shining so bright and sweet through the windows, making the curtains glow and picking out all his toys and art and all the colors on everything. His flockmates that he loved so much were curled close to him, Master quiet and still on the other side of the room was nice This Master instead of evil That Master.

Something wasn't right.

"[ _chirp-chirp_ ]?" [ _warble_ ] asked sleepily, and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] hugged him to reassure him.

 _"You slept a long time,"_ [ _caw_ ] told him.

 _"Master hurt me?"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] asked anxiously.

 _"Don't know. You were scared and then asleep."_

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] thought back. Master and all the traitors had held him down and forced poison into him, and when he wouldn't let the bad thing stay inside his body, they'd put it inside him again so that he couldn't get it out.

He knew what was wrong now. Or...one of the things that was wrong. There was more, he didn't know yet, but this was one of them. The good people were not good, they were bad and betrayed him because they loved Master more than him, they had tied him down and poisoned him, and he wasn't upset. That was the wrong thing, that he wasn't upset.

 _'Something is wrong.'_ He was uneasy, and started to feel like his body wasn't all the way his anymore. He felt like he was too light, floating a little, like he didn't fit all the way in this body.

Master was watching him now. "~~ you feeling, John?"

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] was not going to tell Master anything he was thinking, but his stomach was very empty. That Master liked that, but This Master was _always_ trying to make [ _chirp-chirp_ ] eat and eat and eat and eat, so maybe...maybe This Master would feed him if he asked. This Master _probably_ wouldn't punish him, because he was nice when he was pretending. _"...Hungry."_ He waited, in case This Master turned into That Master and Laughed and hit him.

Instead, This Master cried _"Happy relieved happy!"_ with his body. "Yes, ~~ come ~~ kitchen, John, ~~ you ~~ eat."

This Master was still nice and pretending, so [ _chirp-chirp_ ] took his hand, and that made Master very surprised and happy, too. It made [ _caw_ ] and [ _warble_ ] scared, though; they trailed far behind.

 _"[chirp-chirp], you okay?! You okay?!"_ [ _caw_ ] asked anxiously.

 _"Master bad man!"_ [ _warble_ ] reminded him.

 _"Yes. It's okay. Master touch me, not hurt me; if Master hurt me, doesn't hurt you."_

They watched closely the whole time Master helped him sit in the food room and brought a 'plate' and put things to eat on it that were not bad meat or rotten. Everything was so _colorful_ , [ _chirp-chirp_ ] liked that. "You don't ~~ ask ~~ your food, John. ~~ eat ~~ you like."

The food was right in front of [ _chirp-chirp_ ], not out of reach, so he didn't ask for it, he just started putting the food in his mouth, and Master did not get angry or hit him.

The food hit his stomach and hurt a little. He stopped, and thought. He had not been eating, he remembered. He wasn't hungry, wasn't hungry, and even when he was hungry, Master wanted him to eat, so he didn't want to eat.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] slowly took another bite. Something was wrong. He felt nice, he felt light, he felt like the world wasn't bad or scary, but something was wrong wrong wrong. Why was he doing everything Master wanted when he'd been trying for so long to make Master angry?

 _"Feel better,"_ [big _chirp-chirp_ ] had told him, when they put the poison in him. They had poisoned him and then...

 _'It's a lie.'_ That's what the poison did. It didn't make his body feel bad; instead, the poison lied to him. Master had found a way to make [ _chirp-chirp_ ]'s _own body_ lie to him. _"Safe,"_ his body told him. _"Safe. Peace. Rest."_

MASTER HAD TAKEN [ _CHIRP-CHIRP_ ]'S BODY AWAY FROM HIM. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] didn't have a body anymore, he was a ghost floating, he wasn't a, he wasn't anything, he was...

He ran, and ran, and Master was chasing him, and yes, this was good, except his body kept saying, _"Why?"_ His body wanted to stop and rest and eat.

 _'No!'_ He couldn't trust his own thoughts. Everything was lying to him, everything, _everything_ , even his own self was lying to him.

He stopped, because he couldn't run away from himself. Master had made his own body a prison, [ _chirp-chirp_ ] could never escape from it. Master was coming, Master grabbed him, but that was okay. Master could tie him and hit him and make him Laugh, it was okay; he knew the only way to escape. He found the Spot and dove in.

o.o.o

 _Applause and cheering. A drumroll, the bright lights and colors, the smell, it was all beautiful. His parents already swinging, Mom and Dad flying, now it was his turn. He was so high, nothing bad could ever reach him to touch him, he stepped to the edge, the bar solid and reassuring in his hands, he leaped, and he_ _flew_ _...!_

o.o.o

"John. John!" Bruce had caught up, but the boy was scaring him. John had gone completely still and blank, no expression on his face, no life in his eyes. It was like he was asleep standing up. "Johnny! Johnny, wake up. John- Dickie, look at me! Dick...!"

o.o.o

 _There were mean people outside the tent, trying to get in when they hadn't paid admission and wanted to start a ruckus, but that was okay. The roustabouts would handle them. All Dick had to do was look at his parents' smiles and fly, so he did._

o.o.o

It took three hours for John to stop dissociating, and when he did, it was even worse than the behavior they'd sought the medicine for in the first place. He refused to eat; he constantly went into screaming fits or would destroy things or try to take off running. He lashed out at everyone but his bird brothers, who could only calm him by lying on him and twittering ceaselessly in his ears as he cried. He finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

o.o.o.o.o

When John woke up late the next morning, he seemed lethargic and unhappy, but was no longer throwing fits or making escape attempts. He zombied through some semblance of a morning routine, allowing himself to be dressed like a doll but refusing to eat or play.

The psychiatrist soon arrived to do another evaluation and see if there was something wrong with the prescription - Bruce had collected as much data as he could for them both to analyze, everything from blood and urine samples to documented observations to readings from John's tracker - but her conclusion was that the boy's bad reaction was purely psychological. "As far as I can tell, he's physically _fine_ , the medication should have worked as intended. You said he seemed more relaxed and compliant at first, right?" Still, she left them with a different prescription, with instructions to be persistent if he continued to resist. "Some kids are just contrary by nature. He'll settle down once he realizes how much better he feels when he takes his meds than when he doesn't."

o.o.o.o.o

"John, it's time to take your medicine."

The first real sign of life he showed was to grab the cup of pudding and hurl it across the room.

" _John_. If you don't eat it yourself, we're going to have to make you take it. Don't you remember that it made you feel better for a little while?"

This time, although he still refused to ingest the medication himself, he did not struggle when they gave it to him with the oral syringe, and he did not throw it up. However, as soon as they released him, he fixed his eyes on a point on the ceiling and dissociated for half a day.

o.o.o

 _Dick was telling them all about the red dragon-bat, trying to keep still while Mom cut his hair and Dad mended a tear his costume. "He's soooo fluffy! He's not actually as soft as he looks, but he's_ _so_ _nice, he's got giant huge claws and teeth like a monster, but he's so gentle with Warble even though Warble's so much littler than him-"_

 _"What on earth is that?" Dad asked, frowning._

 _Dick could hear it, too, the man's tearful voice calling distantly from the other side of the trailer, but he hadn't thought it'd be worth noticing. "Oh, that's just Big Chirp-chirp. He wants me to come out, that's all; but don't worry, I won't."_

 _"What a strange name," Mom remarked._

 _"Yeah, it's 'cause he's for us what I am for Caw and Warble, and Trill when she was alive. His name should really be Traitor Chirp-chirp, though, because he's nice but he's BAD, he pretended he loved us but really it was Batman he loved all along."_

 _"Oh, that's terrible. My poor darling..." Mom hugged him and kissed his cheek, then told him to hold still again so she could finish cutting his hair._

 _"Anyway, so Warble's, like, TINY compared to Goliath-"_

"Johnny, please!" _the man's voice went on crying._ "Please, we won't make you take it anymore, just please come back, please come back, Johnnybird...!"

 _"-but Goliath is so gentle with him, I don't think he'd ever even sit on him by accident..."_

 _And then, much later, when Dick was giving Zitka a bath,_ "John, please...you can hate me, just please come back to us..."

 _"Zitka, sing!" Dick signaled, and he laughed when his oldest friend trumpeted cheerfully, drowning out the Batman's voice._

o.o.o

When John finally returned, it was back to the screaming and crying and running and destroying until, Bruce realized, the effects of the drug would have worn off, at which point he went back into zombie mode. _'He's resisting it. He knows what it's doing to him, and he's_ _resisting_ _it, and his anguish is even worse than it was before we started trying to medicate him to be happier.'_

The next day, John wouldn't even get out of bed. Bruce finally came in and showed him the bottle of medicine, and crushed it. "No more. If you get sick, we will give you medicine then, but we're not going to give you medicine for your feelings anymore."

John was still and silent as he watched the display, but his face held interest rather than its usual blank expression. When the trash bag with the shattered medicine bottle and its contents was taken away, John slowly sat up, and studied Bruce for a long moment. _"Food,"_ he finally signed.

"You're hungry?" Bruce asked hopefully.

 _"Food."_

Bruce offered him a protein bar and a nutrition shake. John, staring at him the whole time, allowed himself to be fed five small bites of the bar and three sips of the shake. Then he turned his head away, clearly signaling that the tiny meal was now over.

Bruce gazed at the little boy. Each movement had been so deliberate, it had been a performance. John had condescended to eat a little, not to nourish himself, but to reward his captors for discontinuing their latest form of torture.

"Are you sure it's not us who's being subjected to _your_ every whim...?"

o.o.o

A/N: I know that there are some cases where people do benefit from psychiatric treatment, but I don't feel like it's the right fit for this story.

I'm currently drafting "What would happen if the birds went into general foster care?", but it's turning out to be so long that I might finish a different deleted segment first. Also working on the next chapter of the main story - I think I might have at least one day in-universe before it gets too complicated to continue without more organization.


	59. Deleted sequence: Foster Care - Part 1

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Deleted sequence: General Foster Care - Part 1 (rough draft)**

A/N: In the main story, the birds' legal status has not been finalized yet, but it has been here.

o.o.o

Bruce's ideal social worker was Jennifer Yang, who had no life outside her job because she ate, slept, and breathed her mission of getting as many children as possible into the best family care.

Unfortunately for Bruce, her caseload was even larger than most of her overworked associates', and she would not be swayed by money. _"Mr. Wayne,"_ she told him over the phone, _"while I deeply appreciate everything you have done for the children of this city, if I took on your children's case, others would suffer. I know you have the resources to make sure your kids are taken care of. I'm sorry I can't help you."_

"I understand," he said reluctantly.

The social worker who ended up assigned to John, Peter, and Jack was Lydia Trellis. Bruce researched her extensively, and although she wasn't his ideal choice, she knew ASL and wasn't involved in any shady dealings and she had a decent track record with the children on her watch. On her first visit, the boys, while not exactly warm toward her, didn't seem to dislike her, and she was able to get the younger two engaged in a game.

"They seem to be behaving themselves pretty well right now. What is it that triggers the violent episodes and self-harm?"

"I'm _hoping_ that just a fresh environment and different caregivers will help with the anxiety. They do better with my older children and my butler than they do with me - or, Jack actually got along quite well with me until his brothers convinced him that I'm the Man Who Laughs. The self-harm is a pretty recent development and seems like a reaction to stress, so I'm hoping that will sort itself out if Jack feels more secure. Peter seems to have the least anxiety, but he does tend to throw...tantrums, when he's upset. John...John is the one I'm worried about the most. He..." Bruce trailed off, trying to think of a way to express his concern objectively. "He's just so _unhappy_ , he feels like he'd be better off dead than alive. I just want...I want him to be happy. I want him to...to _want_ to live."

"Has he seen a psychiatrist?"

"Yes." Bruce felt like it was better not to elaborate on that fiasco. "Medication didn't work, so we decided to try other options. I really think that if he finds a home he feels safe in, the suicidal feelings will dissipate."

"Why does he not feel safe here?" she asked sharply.

Bruce tried not to let his offense show. "He is absolutely safe here, he just doesn't _feel_ safe because he thinks that I'm the person who Jokerized him. No matter how many times we explain that his abuser is dead and he's in a new home now, he simply won't believe us. If _you_ can convince him, I'd be very grateful."

"John," Lydia called.

No response.

"John, come here." After a while, she went over to crouch beside him. "John, honey, I want to ask you a question. Did someone hurt you?"

His eyes flickered, then focused on her a little disdainfully.

"These scars, honey," she said, lightly touching his neck. "Who did this to you?"

There was a long pause. _"...Bad Laugh Man."_

"'Bad Laugh Man'? Who is that?"

John bared his teeth a little and pointed at Bruce, who tried not to tense.

"Bruce? Bruce made this scar here, from the collar you wore?"

 _"Neck hurt."_

"Does you neck hurt right now, or did it hurt back then?"

 _"Tight._ Ha ha ha ha ha."

"Let me see, honey." She gently guided his head, watching him for any indication of pain. He looked, if anything, a little bored the whole time. "How does that feel?"

He didn't answer.

"So it hurt back then, in the past, right? Did Bruce ever hurt you after the collar came off?"

 _"Kill me."_

"He tried to kill you?" she asked skeptically.

Bruce couldn't describe what he saw in John's face, but he suddenly detected a change and leaped up. It was too late, however; John was now snarling and clawing at Lydia, who was shrieking as she tried to fend him off. Bruce managed to pry John off of her and get him into a restraining hold. Then he just knelt there and waited it out, holding the furious boy as Lydia shakily straightened herself up.

At last, John went still and quiet. "John, I am going to let go. If you try to hurt anyone, I will hold you again. Do not hurt people." Bruce cautiously let go, and John scrambled to hide behind the couch.

Bruce finally looked at Lydia, who made a face. "I see."

"I want him to go to foster parents who are experienced," Bruce said quickly. "People who won't be intimidated by him or overreact, and obviously people who _won't_ respond to violence with violence."

"We'll take care of him," Lydia said confidently. "Don't worry, I've had kids like him before. We'll find parents who know what to do."

Bruce didn't feel reassured by this, but couldn't think of any specific concern to voice. The visit ended soon after that, and he was left with an excess of anxious energy that he went to work off in the Batcave.

Over the next few days, Lydia worked to secure a foster home for the boys, and Bruce, who had insisted that they be placed together, shamelessly spied on the proceedings. Many potential foster parents declined when they realized that the children were the Jokerized, bloody-fanged monstrosities from the news stories of the apocalypse. Some were willing to take one of the boys, but not all three. One couple agreed at first, but then tearfully turned down John and Jack when they learned of the suicidal tendencies and self-harm, having had tragic past experience with their biological child. One couple backed out when they learned that the boys communicated partially in sign language, even after being told that the children could hear. In the end, no placement was found for all three brothers.

Bruce sat staring at the Batcomputer. The sound of footsteps rapidly approached, and he looked over to see Tim. He had thought that his son was working on a Bat project, but from the look on his face, Bruce could tell that the young man had been listening in on the same phone call Bruce had just overheard.

"I'm not letting Gotham take him," Tim said flatly.

"...What's your plan?"

Tim turned away, making a call on his cell.

 _"Mendez & Holt, how may I help you?"_ a chipper voice asked.

"Hi, April. It's Tim Drake."

 _"Mr. Drake, hi! What's up?"_

"What's up is that I need to adopt Jack."

 _"Whaaaat?!"_ she exclaimed in dismay. _"But you said you wanted to be designated his brother!"_

"His _emancipated_ brother. He's not doing well with Bruce, and I'm not letting him go into foster care if he's going to be split from the other kids, so I'm taking him."

 _"Hmmmm. There's no precedent for this and you're super-rich, so we can probably get it done, but it's going to take a little time, Mr. Drake."_

Tim was silent for a moment, dismayed. "...How much time?"

 _"Can't tell at this point; obviously I gotta fill in JoAnn. Ooohh, she's going to be so mad!"_

"Just...get me Jack as soon as possible, I've got a bad feeling about this."

As soon as Tim hung up, Bruce called Dick, who'd been hiding in Blüdhaven. "Dick, no one can take all three birds."

Dick swore explosively. _"I...I can't-!"_

"I know you don't feel capable of raising children right now, Dick, but I'm just letting you know, if you don't take John, he is going to be alone in the foster system."

 _"...I'm coming to Gotham. I'm assuming you're going to wire up all the placement homes with surveillance?"_

"Do you even need to ask?" Tim snorted in the background.

A few hours later, Lydia called to break the news officially. _"Mr. Wayne, I've got some news you're not going to like..."_

Trying to tell the children was awful. "Boys," Bruce said gently, crouching down in front of the children who were cowering away from him, "I know you are very unhappy and frightened here, so...I found a way for you to leave."

They stared at him.

"The problem is...you can only leave this house if the three of you separate. You're going to go to different homes. Jack, Tim wants you to live with him, but you have to live somewhere else for a little while until he is allowed to take you. In the meantime..." He couldn't continue, because John and Jack were crying now, and he couldn't speak without crying, too.

The night before the boys' departure, the whole family gathered for a miserable final meal together. No one spoke much, except for Peter whispering his morsel requests to Dick as if they were secrets. Jack, also clinging to his oldest brother, avoided his own plate but stole liberally off of Dick's. John resisted all attempts to get him to eat, fixing Bruce with an intensely malevolent gaze that the man attempted to ignore.

"Dick," Dick finally snapped, fed up, "Mama wants you to eat. Mom will be very sad if you don't eat."

After a long pause, John, with his eyes still fixed on Bruce, lowered his chin to the tabletop and slowly pushed food into his mouth. He chewed as if he imagined it was Laughs's bones he was crunching between his teeth. After a few bites, he stood up and started making his way over to Bruce.

"No," Cassandra said in alarm. "Do not-"

Bruce pushed his chair back from the table, raising his arms in a defensive way without thinking, right when John suddenly broke into a run and flew at him. They grappled for a minute, John screaming as he attempted to tear out the man's eyes and Bruce struggling to protect himself and get John under control.

For a while, no one knew what to do - Bruce could not look at his family as he kept John pinned to the floor; the boy shrieked and crowed as if he was still a Jokerized monster skittering at the feet of the Batman Who Laughs, with Cassandra's attempts to soothe him having no effect. Tim was long gone, having taken Jack with him. Dick was holding back Peter, who was struggling furiously to rescue his older flockmate, and simultaneously trying to comfort Damian, who was nearly crying as he shouted for the birds to calm down and be reasonable. Duke and Alfred, both feeling distressed and useless, started cleaning up just to have something to do.

John finally went quiet when he fell into his passive-aggressive zombie state. Cassandra gathered him into her arms, and Bruce headed straight for the cave.

Everyone got up earlier than usual the next morning, red-eyed and downhearted. Tim held Jack for several long minutes before finally managing to pull away and go to work. Bruce paced the manor restlessly; Cassandra and Duke kept the birds occupied as Alfred, occasionally having to stop to clear his eyes, finished packing the last of their things.

Damian, hugging Titus, watched as Dick paced around and around his room, waiting for the call to connect. "Lydia - it's Dick Grayson. I tried to call you last night, but you weren't answering."

 _"I'm sorry, Dick, I had a lot going on last night. I'll be at the manor in an hour or so, can it wait until then?"_

"No, because you don't need to come to the manor at all. I'm taking them - John, Peter, and Jack, I'm taking them to Blüdhaven with me. My sister and brother are coming to help me look after them. You don't need to come, they're not going into foster care."

 _"...Mr. Grayson, this isn't the sort of decision you can make last-minute."_

"John is _mine_! He is LEGALLY my son-!"

 _"And you signed papers stating that you cannot care for him-"_

"But I didn't give up my parental rights, and now I _can_ take care of him!"

 _"You're unemployed, Mr. Grayson."_

"I still have money!" Dick shouted. For the children's sake, he had swallowed his pride and agreed to let Bruce completely finance whatever parts of the birds' upbringing Dick himself couldn't afford. "I can show you my bank statements! I _can_ take care of them now, I have help, they don't _need_ to go into foster care!"

 _"Look, Mr. Grayson, you can start proceedings to regain sole custody of John if you want, but that doesn't change the fact that you do not_ _currently_ _have proof that you can meet_ _all_ _his needs - I am especially concerned about his mental health - and you have no say in what happens to the younger children."_

Dick was speechless for a moment.

 _"If that's all, Mr. Grayson, I'll see you-"_

"No. NO. Those kids do not belong in foster care, and I'm not letting you take them."

 _"Mr. Grayson, I'd hate to have to get the police involved, or for you to do anything that would hurt your chances of getting John back."_

"Are you _threatening_ me?"

 _"I am_ _trying_ _to help you. I'll be HAPPY help you get sole custody of John, but like I said, that is not going to happen today, and he_ _will_ _be safe until you're able to prove your ability to raise him. I want what's best for these children, Mr. Gr-"_

Dick hung up, hurled his phone at the bed, bellowed so loudly that he frightened Titus, then sat down heavily and buried his hands in his hair.

"...If you'd like me to abduct the children in a way that can't be traced back to you," Damian offered, "I can-"

"No, Dami," Dick said thickly. "Let's just...let's just see if this is a decent placement, first. Not _all_ foster homes are bad, maybe the kids will have more freaking luck than I did..."

To be continued...

A/N: When April said there's no precedent, she meant for the "emancipated seventeen-year-old wants to adopt his younger alternate universe self" situation.


	60. Deleted sequence: Foster Care - Part 2

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Deleted sequence: General Foster Care - Part 2 (rough draft)**

A/N: The birds have been to a dentist by now, so they have normal teeth instead of fangs.

o.o.o

Lydia drove up at 10:26 a.m. The family was waiting for her in the foyer, Bruce out of sight so as not to distress the birds. Lydia stared around at everyone, looking caught off guard by how many people were staring at her. "Well...good morning." She tried to smile at the boys. "John, Peter, Jack, are you ready to go?"

They stared back at her, their eyes wide with apprehension.

"Ms. Trellis," Alfred said softly, "why don't we get their things into the car while they say goodbye."

The two of them moved away to start hauling suitcases. The others were quiet, hugging and whispering, almost every single one of them with tears in their eyes.

 _"We go,"_ John signed shakily.

"Not for long, Johnnybird," Dick promised. "I'm trying to get you back, and Timmy's trying to get hold of you, Jackie, and Peter, I _swear_ we're gonna get you out soon, too." His eyes stung as he thought of Jason, who might be dead or in serious trouble for all they knew, who was so far out of reach and had no idea that his little counterpart was about to fall into the mercy of strangers.

 _"Come,"_ Peter insisted. _"ALL family, run together!"_

"It's not like that," Duke explained gently. "We all live here, we like being Bruce's kids. You guys...it's just that you hate it here so much, this is your chance to escape and be happier, you know?"

Peter, however, could read the apprehension in his body language. _"You watch us go away and die!"_

"...Okay, foster care sucks," Duke burst out, "but _some_ places are okay, so..." He couldn't bring himself to say that it had been worse for him because he'd been so desperate to find his parents that he'd had no interest in settling in. There was a good chance Peter would be just as desperate to find his bird brothers, and with fewer social skills and life experience than Duke had had as a foster child, he might fare even worse. "Oh God... But, hey, B- We're gonna be watching you guys all the time, we'll come rescue you if it's bad, okay?" Peter clung to him, and he squeezed tightly.

"Ccassiie," Jack suddenly quavered, "Ii...I ss'ttay. I...ss'tay hhere..."

"Nno," John hissed, and twittered, _"Master will kill you!"_

 _"YES!"_ Jack sobbed, _"Master kill me here with my flockmates! Out there no flockmates, no Daddy, no [big chirp-chirp], nobody, they go away and leave me all alone, it's too quiet, I don't want it, I want to stay and die with my flockmates, I don't want to be alone, I don't want to be alone...!"_ Cassandra, wrapping her arms around him and understanding the gist of his loneliness and terror, was weeping along with him.

"Oh, God," Dick wailed in a thin voice, "I can't..." The minute night fell, he was going to fly out as Nightwing and _take_ his babies back, he couldn't stand to see them in such pain.

"We are being irrational," Damian spoke up, his voice not quite steady. "We have no reason to believe they'll be worse off in temporary care than they are here, and I'm sure Richard and Timothy will be able to retrieve them by legal means quite soon. They _do_ have the ability to defend themselves from untrained commoners, they'll be quite all right for the brief time it takes for Father's lawyers to sort out their wardship status."

"Wow, Damian's actually being comforting," Duke laughed, wiping his eyes.

Lydia soon came back, though it took nearly ten minutes to disentangle the birds from their family. Alfred was the last one to hold his grandchildren before they were led toward the car.

John dug his feet in, and his brothers shrank back behind him. "Nno."

Lydia had been warned ahead of time of the children's aversion to safety restraints. "Don't worry, honey, it doesn't hurt. You'll get a reward if you keep your seatbelt on, and I have some movies and games for you, you'll be so busy that you won't even notice how much time the drive takes!"

Getting the children into the car was awful. The entire family coaxed and persuaded and pleaded for quite a long time, and even when they did manage to get the kids buckled, at least one of them would unbuckle himself before Lydia could get into the driver's seat. Eventually, they got the timing right to where Jack was distracted playing with a replacement seatbelt Lydia had obtained for this express purpose, Peter was distracted playing with a tablet, and John wasn't screaming or wildly struggling. Dick was pretty sure the boy was dissociating, but the social worker was rushing to start the car and either didn't hear or didn't want to hear his concern. Dick thrust his hands into his hair, feeling like his heart was physically breaking as he watched his baby brothers disappear.

Lydia exhaled deeply in relief once she passed through the gates of Wayne Manor. She was frustrated from the seatbelt ordeal and irritated with the Wayne family for being so clingy and resistant when they had _asked_ to put the kids into foster care. At least it was over now, and she could finally concentrate on the next part of her job without interference from fussy rich people.

" _crow_!"

 _"crow_! _crow_!"

"Calm down, kiddos, you're okay," she called.

"I ddoht wwa'nnt-"

" _CROW_!"

"-I doht lli'kke it!"

"I know, Jack, but you have to keep your seatbelt on until the car stops."

The crowing and protesting went on until they were a mile or so away. Then something heavy flew past Lydia, very narrowly missing her head, and struck the windshield hard enough to crack it. "PETER!" she screamed, nearly veering off the road. Luckily, they were still in a residential area and there were no other cars around, but her heart was pounding. She pulled to a more controlled stop and inspected the tablet in dismay (the screen, which had already been a bit cracked, was now in even worse shape, though it still seemed to work all right), and then the damaged windshield.

Fury surged through her, and she wrenched her upper body into the back seat, firmly taking hold of Peter's face. "NO," she boomed in a deep voice. "WE DO NOT-"

He attacked her with his fingernails and tried to bite her. After a struggle, she managed to get him pinned down and started a countdown. "You need to cool down. Twenty, nineteen, eight-"

The sound of a car door opening distracted her, and she was horrified to find that the youngest child had gotten his seatbelt off, figured out that the driver's door wasn't child-locked like the back doors were, and was now fleeing into some rich person's private property. "JACK, COME BACK HERE!"

She chased him down and was sweating by the time she'd dragged the struggling child back to the car, upon which point she was utterly horrified to find that Peter had vanished because, in her haste, she'd forgotten to shut and lock all the doors. "Oh, _no_...!"

This time, when she buckled Jack in, she put a buckle guard over the latch that prevented him from undoing it himself. Ignoring his frightened shrieks, she secured all the car doors and went hunting for Peter.

It took twenty minutes just to locate him, and required help from someone's gardener to trap the boy. Lydia wanted to scream with frustration as she dragged the wildly struggling, shrieking boy back to her vehicle, where she found John free of his seatbelt and in the process of shredding Jack's in an attempt to free his brother as well.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT." She got them all buckled and locked in with the guard devices. Then she got back into the driver's seat, turned on the radio, cranked it up high enough to mostly drown the children's screams, and determinedly drove on, not looking into the back seat.

The journey to the closest foster home, Jack's, took a while. Lydia finally turned down the music (which was when she heard the creepy-as-all-getout laughter from the back seat that had been going on for who knew how long) and glanced at the kids when she was a couple of blocks away. She closed her eyes in exasperation, stopped the car, got out, went around to the back, and opened the door.

All three children stared at her. The oldest boy looked like true Jokerspawn, fixing her with an evil smile, and she shuddered. The youngest boy had one whole thumb and part of the other in his mouth, drool coating his hand and starting to drip down his arm. Peter had apparently made determined attempts to wrestle himself out of the seatbelt. He was now kneeling on the floor of the car, bent backward in an awkward and uncomfortable position, the horizontal strap wedged under his armpits, his shirt hiked up to bare his stomach and most of his chest. He stared at Lydia for a minute, then, with hands forced high above his head, did his best to sign, _"Stuck."_

"That's what happens when you don't keep your seatbelt on," she snapped. She freed him, struggled with him for a while to get him sitting up and buckled in again, and finally managed to snap the buckle guard into place. Then she looked over at Jack, who had started to cry. "And _you_ , get your hands out of your mouth, you're too old to be sucking your thumb," she said, pulling his arms down. "Don't cry, you're almost home."

She screamed when John suddenly lashed out at her head, and panicked to find herself being attacked by the mini Joker. She frantically hit him until the hand clawing at her finally dropped away, and the one latched onto her hair loosened enough for her to pull free. She jerked away and slammed the door shut, then spent several minutes pacing and crying a little, trying to calm her racing heart. Finally she cleared her throat, fixed her hair, clothes, and makeup the best she could, then got back into the driver's seat and set out to get rid of the first of these little hellspawn. _'I'm asking for a re-assignment the second I get back to the office. I can't do this.'_

She parked a few houses down, just in case, then cautiously went to get Jack out of the car. Of _course_ he would immediately start screaming and trying to latch onto his crazy Joker brother. Lydia was terrified and furious as she wrestled them apart, trying to protect her face, and finally managed to get Jack out of the car. She slammed the door shut on the horrible Joker smile. "Jack, stop that," she ordered. She finally managed to pin both hands in hers. "You will see your...brother later, you'll see him _later_ , Jack, during visits. Right now, we're going to meet Mr. and Mrs. Reynard, they're going to take care of you."

He didn't answer, just twisted his face and started chirping and cawing incessantly like a deranged bird, getting louder and more shrill every second.

"Jack, _stop_! Just calm down, will you?! Come on, let's go." It was practically a fight, getting him to walk; then he collapsed in that deadweight move she hated so much, and she ended up carrying him the rest of the way to the house. He started to struggle near the end, but she was able to put him down then, relieved. The little brat was heavy.

He started up the chirping and cawing again, then suddenly started screaming, "JJJOHNNNYY! PPPE'TTAH! I WA'T JJOHNNY PPE'TAH!"

"John and Peter are going to different homes," she snapped, trying to hang on to his arm so he wouldn't go bolting off the porch. "Everything will be fine."

The door opened before she could ring the bell, probably because all the screaming had alerted the Reynards. The man at the door smiled at Lydia and then looked down at the child straining hard to break Lydia's grip. "Uh-oh. Someone doesn't look very happy."

"I'm going to get his stuff," Lydia said quickly. "Can you take him?"

She went back and forth with the boy's luggage, ignoring the irritating bird noises both of the kids still in the car kept warbling loudly at her, and thumped the last bag down in the hall in great relief. Louis Reynard was holding Jack in a restrictive hug, trying to coax him inside, as he wife crouched beside them. "I've got some sandwiches and lemonade in the house," she tried. "Are you hungry?"

"[ _chirp-chirp_ ]! [ _caw_ ]! [ _chirp-chirp_ ]! [ _caw_ ]!" Jack cried, sobbing.

"Are his brothers in the car?" Ginny asked when she saw what he was reaching toward, wondering why they hadn't come out to say goodbye.

Lydia started talking at the same time. "Well, I'll leave you to get to know each other!" she said quickly, desperate to escape and get rid of the last two. "Call the office if you have any questions!" She hurried off.

"Let's wave bye-bye," Louis said, a little at a loss.

It wasn't until the car had driven out of sight that Jack finally went still. He stared, dazed and trembling, and this time didn't fight when he was picked up and carried inside.

Louis sat him down at the table, and Ginny showed him the sandwich ingredients she'd laid out. "What kind of bread do you like best, honey?"

He continued to stare blankly into the distance.

"Do you like peanut butter and jelly, or ham? ...Or maybe tuna fish?"

He didn't move until they set a sandwich into his hand. Then he blinked, dropped the sandwich onto the plate, pushed it away, and sucked in a shaky breath. "Pllease g-gif, givvve me Jjohnny an' Ppe'tah."

"Oh...sweetie, I'm so sorry, but they're in different homes. Don't worry, Jack, we'll be able to call them later, maybe even tonight, and you can talk to them, okay?"

He started breathing hard. "Pllease...giff me Jjohnny an' Ppetah...!"

They did not give his flockmates back to him, so he threw himself on the floor and screamed. But they didn't speak to him or even look at him, just walked around him like he wasn't even there, so he stopped. Then they smiled big and told him he was a good boy. _'If I'm bad, they ignore me. If I'm sweet, they pet me.'_ Just like Master, except Master hurt them if they were bad. But when they were good, _sometimes_ Master was good to them back.

So [ _warble_ ] smiled and tilted his head the way he did to make This Master and [big _chirp-chirp_ ] do things, and he said, "Mmommy, I sowwy."

She gasped, and she cried with her body, _"Surprised so happy (suspicious) happy~"_

Yes, that was how to do it. He hugged her, and she liked that even more.

"That's right, Jack, it's much better to ask for things politely. We'll try to call your brothers tonight, but you're a big boy and can wait patiently until then, right?"

"I good boy."

"Ohhh, precious." She kissed him gently. "Would you like to go see your room now?"

"Y'ss." He let her hold his hand and show her the place where his new nest was. He hated it, his nest was too small and had no no no flockmates in it, so he didn't like that she was taking all _his_ things and putting them in the room like it was his. Bear was _his_ , Bear belonged in _his_ nest, not this strange empty nest he didn't know. _His_ toys belonged in _his_ room, not this strange small room with one 'plastic' table-thing by the nest instead of two wood ones on either side, and one window instead of lots all down the wall, and a small white 'dresser' for clothes-feathers instead of a big brown one...

"Do you like your new room, Jack?"

He knew he should say yes, but he couldn't answer until he hugged Bear tight. "Yyess, I llike."

 _"Relieved."_ "Good. Would you like to play a game, or read a story?"

"I slllee'py."

"Oh - you want to take a nap? All right, Jack." She fussed over him and tucket the blanket-feathers around him and made sure he had Bear, and she kissed him again and petted his hair.

 _'She loves me,'_ he thought, a little surprised. He did not want her to love him, because this was not his flock or his home and he had to _leave_.

She blocked out the sun and turned off the inside light. There was a small light near the floor, but it was a car shape instead of a star shape. _'Wrong.'_ The woman finally went away.

[ _warble_ ] lay quietly for a while, listening. He heard the woman and the man moving around outside, not close. He listened until he thought they probably wouldn't come close soon, then he climbed off the nest. _"Sleep later,"_ he promised Bear with his hands. ('A-S-L' was very good, you could talk to your flockmates and not make any noise for Master or any other big people to hear!) Then he got his 'book' light where the woman put it, and he turned it on, and he started looking at the room with his light.

He would see what all the useful things in the room were, and he would see the places he couldn't get out and the places he could get out and the places that didn't want to let him out but he could make them do it anyway. He would have to wait, and it hurt, knowing he would be alone for so long. But if he was careful and smiled to the man and the woman and worked when they weren't looking, he would be able to escape, because they weren't Master and he could escape from anyone who wasn't Master. He would find his flockmates, and no one would ever take them away from each other again.

To be continued...

A/N: The part about Peter getting stuck in his seatbelt was originally going to be in the seatbelt training arc, but then I realized it wasn't going to work there, so I'm glad I got to at least use it in a deleted scene instead.

And for those who are wondering, Peter's favorite stuffed animal is Dog (and of course John's is Elephant).


	61. Deleted sequence: Foster Care - Part 3

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Deleted sequence: General Foster Care - Part 3 (rough draft)**

The second house belonged to the Jefferson family, with two biological sons and two foster ones already in residence. When Lydia stopped the car and came around to the back, she was exasperated to find the remaining Joker children embracing each other tightly, watching her like they intended to fight to the death if she made a move to pull them apart.

She took a deep breath and reminded herself that it was normal for children to fear being separated from siblings. "John, Peter, listen to me. We're not doing this to be mean. We _wanted_ to put you in the same home together, but we couldn't because there weren't any that could take more than one of you. But you will still get to talk to each other on the phone and maybe see each other sometimes, all right? And as soon as a home opens up that will take all three of you, we will reunite you there. This is not goodbye forever, only for a little while."

"..."

She huffed out a breath. "Okay, Peter, come on."

By the time she got Peter out of the car, she and both boys were bleeding. The children were screaming bloody murder, too, and she didn't dare let Peter up from the restraining hold she was pinning him to the ground with, because she was positive that he would go right back to trying to rip out her throat.

 _'And Wayne put up with these monsters for almost two MONTHS?! The man is a saint. No, whatever nannies he hired were the saints...'_

After a couple of minutes, two boys came romping out of the house to investigate the screaming. "Whoooooaaa, is that Joker Kid?!"

"Did he _bite_ you?!"

"Alan, please get your dad," Lydia said through gritted teeth.

"He's at work."

Somehow, Lydia and Mrs. Jefferson managed to get Peter into the house and then, when he still kept trying to escape, his room (no one had felt comfortable letting him share with any of the other children until he proved that he wasn't going to go Joker on his foster siblings, so he had it to himself).

They all stared at the bedroom door, which was shaking and creaking with the violence of Peter's apparent attempts to hurl himself straight through it. No one objected when Dennis and Alan pushed the hall table in front of the bedroom door to reinforce it.

"Let me get his bags," Lydia said faintly. When she got back to the car, a terrible smell wafted out when she opened the trunk. " _John_!" she gagged. He was staring at her, sitting in his own waste. From the malicious look on his face, he had done it on purpose. "Oh my _God_ , what is _wrong_ with you...?!"

She hauled Peter's luggage to the house, drove to a more secluded area, then stormed around to get the package of baby wipes and diapers she kept in her trunk, along with the first pair of shorts she found in the remaining luggage. The diapers were too small for John, but she didn't have any better options.

She opened John's door, dreading the ordeal of cleaning him up. "John...I'm going to unbuckle you, then you need to take your clothes off, clean yourself with the wipes, and I'll help you put this on in case you have another accident."

He wouldn't let her near him, even to undo the buckle. His eyes were fixed on her, his fingers crooked like claws, and any time she made the slightest attempt to reach for the buckle, he'd lash out at her face, so she finally dove to seize his arms. She managed to get the boy horizontal and maneuvered him into a makeshift restraint, pressing him against the seat with her leg so that his arms were pinned and her own hands were free to deal with the mess he'd made.

Once he was immobilized, he stopped fighting, and lay there laughing and laughing the entire time she wrestled his pants and underwear off, cleaned him up, fixed a diaper on him, and pulled on the fresh pair of shorts. When she was done, she threw everything into the trunk and, with great difficulty, got the seatbelt fastened again before she very cautiously released the boy and leaped back.

He continued to lie there, now silent. She got back in the driver's seat and started the car, tears pouring down her cheeks.

The Wayne Foundation group home that had offered to take John, even though they were already at capacity, was the farthest away. John was scarily quiet during the entire journey, but when Lydia parked the car and reached to unbuckle him, he struck lightning-quick to sink his teeth into her throat. She screamed in utter panic, and the people who'd been waiting to greet their new charge frantically rushed to separate them. John ended up being injected with a sedative, and when his limp body was pried off of the social worker, she had to be driven to the hospital.

o.o.o.o.o

Back in the Batcave, Bruce stared in horror at the surveillance footage he was seeing from all three of the homes he'd secretly wired up beforehand. _'This is a disaster.'_

o.o.o.o.o

Back at the Jeffersons', the violent sounds continued for hours, and no one dared go into the bedroom. At long last, it went quiet.

Andrea Jefferson and the boys listened hard. "Mom...what if he's using the broken stuff to...?"

With her heart in her mouth, Andrea leaped up and hurried to the door. "Peter?" she called, her throat tight with panic. Peter, honey, I'm coming in." She moved the table aside and very cautiously opened the door.

She was astounded at the level of destruction - the room was _completely_ trashed, even the walls and windows. The only items undamaged were Peter's suitcases, though they'd been opened and rifled through. Peter himself was wedged into the corner between the two windows, hunched under a large pile of blankets and clutching a stuffed dog. He stared at Andrea intently, unmoving.

When she saw that he wasn't hurting himself, she closed the door again and burst into tears. Even with the money her family would receive to help support Peter, they weren't going to be able to afford fixing and replacing everything. _'No wonder nobody wanted them! Oh God, what am I going to do...?'_

She didn't dare go into the room or interact with the wild little boy until her husband came home, except to nervously push a McDonald's bag inside at one point. When Mr. Jefferson did finally open the door, he swore at the mess. Then it slowly dawned on him and his wife that the child was nowhere to be seen. "Peter?!"

One of the windows had been broken fully, and there was blood on it. When they realized that Peter had run away, they frantically called the police, and were told that a child matching Peter's description had actually already been picked up, thanks to an anonymous tip from 'someone' who'd seen the child walking unaccompanied, and was on his way to the station.

Mr. Jefferson drove down, where he found Peter in a conference room, clutching his stuffed dog in one arm and eating snacks with the other, his backpack still on his back. "I ggo ffin' mmy bboddas," he chatted to the officer who was sitting with him, his mouth and free hand full of crackers.

"Peter!"

At the sight of an emotionally intent adult male bearing down on him, the boy leaped up and started screaming furiously, backing into a corner and seizing the closest thing at hand to use as a weapon. "NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOO!"

They couldn't get the boy into the car without force until Mr. Jefferson thought of using the boy's family as a bribe. "Don't you want to talk to your brothers? Get in the car, Peter, and you'll get to talk to John and Jack when we get home."

At the group home, when John had awakened, he had dragged himself off the borrowed bed they'd laid him on and marched through every room, wrenching open evey door and grabbing every child who resembled either of his brothers' body types to stare at for a moment before shoving them aside. He completely ignored the staff following him around, trying to get his attention. When he tried to go outside, they held him back, and when he couldn't break out of their hold, he burst into ceaseless Joker laughter.

One of the other children in the home, a boy named Chase, had lost his parents during one of Joker's attacks. At the sound of the unnatural laughter, Chase screamed and covered his ears, begging for it to stop. Staff members tried to calm down John, but he only got more violent. Another staff member tried to help Chase away, and the boy had a panic attack in the hallway before reaching his room.

"Someone's on the phone for John!" one of the staff shouted from the kitchen, the receiver of the landline in her hand. "They're trying to set up a three-way call with his brothers!"

John abruptly stopped laughing when he heard Peter's shouting voice. He wrenched the receiver into his hand and shoved it against the side of his face. _"WWANN'TT [chirp-chirp] [warble]!"_ Peter screamed. Jack exclaimed in great excitement, and then all three of them were twittering urgently to each other.

Bruce, eavesdropping, wished he could understand what they were saying, but they were unable to sign on the audio-only connection, and there were only a few English words scattered amongst the birdsong.

 _"They tear us away,"_ [ _caw_ ] raged. _"Bad big people tear our flock!"_

 _"Coming, I'm coming to find you,"_ [ _warble_ ] said soothingly.

 _"It hurts, it hurts, they take hurt my precious little ones..."_

 _"I'm coming, [chirp-chirp],"_ [ _warble_ ] promised again. _"Wait for me, flockmates. I'll find This Master's flock, they will tell me where you are so I find you. TOGETHER."_

 _"[warble] find me in house?"_ [ _caw_ ] asked anxiously.

 _"Yes,"_ [ _warble_ ] assured him.

 _"[warble] find me at street?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"[warble] find me if they tie me bury me?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"Master will catch us,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] said with a shiver.

 _"It's okay. Master catch us, Master don't catch us, we together."_

 _"Yes."_

 _"NO Bat!"_ [ _caw_ ] shouted. _"[warble] save us, we_ _fly away_ _!"_

 _"Together,"_ [ _warble_ ] said again, not caring where they were or what they did otherwise. All he had to do was find his flockmates; they could make the decisions after that, he would be happy.

When the call disconnected, all three boys were calmer. Jack smiled angelically at his foster parents, who smiled back and asked him if he'd had a nice chat with his brothers. John also smiled sweetly at his guardians, drifting away to talk to Zitka during the long lecture they gave him about proper behavior and house rules.

Peter marched to the refrigerator and pulled hard on the handle until it opened, then helped himself to everything that looked good. Andrea Jefferson was staying away from him, trying not to cry and also trying to keep her children away from him. One was watching TV, another was playing a handheld game, and a third reluctantly started on his homework, but the fourth went over to Peter and started poking him. "Hey, Joker Boy. Demon Kid. You're a real asshole." Peter ignored him except to swat his hand away, much more interested in digging out scoops of rainbow sherbet with his fingers. "You're disgusting and selfish. Dessert's supposed to be for _all_ of us, but you're such a stupid pig, you think it's all for you."

Meanwhile, Mr. Jefferson was on the phone. "What do you mean she's in the _hospital_?! She just dumped him with us _hours_ ago! ... Well, then who's their social worker now?! ... I don't care, I'm just telling you, you'd better send SOMEONE first thing tomorrow, because this is not going to work, we can't have this kid here. And who's going to pay for the property damage? This kid _wrecked_ my house, it's going to cost _thousands_ of dollars to fix, I better see some reimbursement because- ... Huh. That so. Well, that's fine, then; but we're not keeping this kid past tonight, I don't care how big the check from Wayne is. We are _not keeping this kid_. We are not keeping him, I need to make sure you understand this. I need to speak with your supervisor."

[ _caw_ ] wasn't listening to the ugly words words words the stupid boy was babbling at him, but the poking was getting _annoying_ , and he _did not like_ when the boy pushed his head and shoved him. _"DON'T TOUCH ME I HATE YOU GET AWAY FROM ME,"_ [ _caw_ ] said with just his body.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH, MOOOOOOOOMMMMM!"

"OH MY GOD, SAM! SAM, GET IT OFF, GET HIM OFF, OH MY GOD HE'S BLEEDING, CALL THE POLICE...!"

The child Peter had bitten was taken to the hospital, and the police, confused about why this cute, calm bird boy was being accused of such violence, nevertheless took Peter and his luggage to the agency in charge of his placement. Peter fell asleep in the lobby, contently leaning against his biggest suitcase with Dog in his arms, unaware of the frantic phone calls being made (or the frantic surveillance and research being done in the cave out in Bristol - Batman would not be making an appearance in Gotham tonight).

To be continued...

A/N: Although I haven't made any progress on sorting out the current arc in the main story, I've been making a _lot_ of progress in real life. (Like, things I procrastinated on for months or years at my parents' house are getting accomplished in days here at my own house.) Eventually, I will get the urgent TBWS notes organized; in the meantime, I hope these deleted scenes and stuff are okay to tide you guys over. (Sorry I'm not posting them very tidily. If you know me from previous fandoms, you know how wacky my posting order can get.)


	62. Deleted sequence: Foster Care - Part 4

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Deleted sequence: General Foster Care - Part 4 (rough draft)**

[ _warble_ ] waited a loooong time for the man and woman to go to bed. He was so _bored_ , but then he got a book and his book light, and that was better. Except when the woman peeked her head in, she told him he was not allowed to look at books because it was time to sleep. So he pretended to go to sleep, and this time when she left him alone, he put pillows under his blankets to look like a little boy was still sleeping there, but him the real little boy took his books and light into the closet instead.

He gasped and realized it had been a long time. So he carefully opened the closet- No man or woman. But he could still hear them outside the bedroom, so this time when he went into the closet, he looked at his 'phone.' The numbers said 10:23. The number on this side of the dots went up and up faster; the number on that side of the dots went slower. He had to wait until that number said 11 instead of 10.

Next time he crept to the bedroom door, the house was dark and silent. The man and the woman were gone or asleep. Now [ _warble_ ] could _finally_ look for his brothers.

When he had been very small at the Big House, there were lots of not-mamas to take care of him and the house when Mama and Daddy were gone. Not all at the same time, but every time a not-mama left, a new one would come. (Except when Cathy left the day after his sixth birthday, a new one never came, so he and Big House had to take care of themselves. That was okay; he knew how to get food now, and when there was no not-mama, Mama and Daddy only left during the day instead of for weeks and weeks.)

One of the not-mamas, Gertie, couldn't drive. He remembered riding with her on her bike to the bus stop, and riding the bus into the city, and helping her go to all the places, and coming back again. Sometimes at night, she would go to see her friend Ronnie that he wasn't allowed to tell Mama and Daddy about, and she would take [ _warble_ ] (except his name was Tim then) to the city, and when they met Ronnie they would ride in taxis. They would eat at places that were louder and more fun than Mama and Daddy's eating places, and sometimes they would even go to a movie. (Boring movies or scary ones, so Tim usually played or read instead of watched. Sometimes he would watch Gertie and Ronnie kiss, but that got boring, too.)

Then they would go to a hotel, and Tim was supposed to stay in the bathroom until Gertie and Ronnie stopped yelling. The first time, he peeked out the door and watched them wrestle instead, and at first it was scary because he thought they were trying to kill each other, and he wondered if they would hurt him if he tried to use the phone by the bed to call 9-1-1. But then they finished and they were so happy, and he realized they liked it. After the first time, he just stayed in the bathroom and read or played, though the yelling was annoying when they got too loud.

Tim was good and never told, but Mama and Daddy found out about Ronnie and the hotels, anyway. They got mad at Gertie and sent her away. The next not-mama didn't take Tim anywhere, but that was okay, because he knew how to do it now. Sometimes when Olivia forgot to make dinner for him, he went to get dinner for himself at his favorite eating place that Ronnie took him to. Then they told him they could bring food to his house, and they showed him how to ask, so he didn't have to take the bus or a taxi to eat anymore, but there were still other things he liked to do in the city. The birds at home were small and shy and flew away when he came close, but the city birds were fat and walked right up to him, some even ate out of his hand. He went to see the First Gotham Cathedral when it was fixed after the fire, because he knew the stained glass windows would be much more beautiful for real than on TV, and he was right. He went to look at the big Christmas tree at Christmas.

[ _warble_ ] still remembered the numbers for the Big House. He had written them down while he was in the closet - it was hard, a little hard to do them one at a time instead of all together in his head, and a lot hard to make the right shapes on the paper. He had to keep throwing the paper away and trying again, but finally he did it.

He took off his sleeping clothes and put on some outside clothes, and put his phone in his pocket. He got his backpack and put some things in it, like his book light and his favorite book and his phone 'charger' and Bear. Then he went to the kitchen, and he put some bananas and 'granola bars' in his backpack.

He got a knife and a fork out of a drawer. He couldn't put those in his pocket because they hurt, but the fork stayed at his waist when he stuck it through one of the loop things on his pants. He could grab it quick and poke hard if someone tried to hurt him. The knife, he couldn't grab quick, but it was good to have in his backpack. If he had to sleep, he could take the knife out again and hold it close while he slept.

He didn't have any green money, but he found the woman's 'purse' and searched through it until he found her money card, and he put that in his pocket, too.

The man and the woman had told him not to be scared because there was a 'security system' to keep them all safe at night. He knew what that was. This Master had one, and the Big House had one. He still knew the security system numbers for that one even though he hadn't been to the Big House in a long, long time. Maybe Master had burned it up.

But maybe Master hadn't burned it up; when This Master's house got pretty and clean, big people who went away kept _coming back_. People kept not being dead, so maybe the house that went away was still not dead, too. He hoped Big House was still alive, because it would be a very long way to walk from Big House to Master's house if his ride-on car and his bike had been burned up, too.

This was a different house, and it had different security system numbers. [ _warble_ ] had watched the man touch them. Now he just had to get high enough to reach. He already knew where the step stool was.

[ _warble_ ] carried the stool to the front door. He climbed on it and reached, and pressed the right numbers and then the button that was to go out instead of the button that was to come in and make the house stop cawing.

The red light turned green. Now [ _warble_ ] could push the locks on the door, and the house would be happy and not scream at him.

He went outside, and it was dark and a little scary. He walked past a house, and another house, and another, and now there were rushing cars. He walked some more until he saw a yellow car, a taxi, sitting still. He knocked on the door.

After a while, the door opened, and a man stared at him. _"Incredulous, wary."_

"Hhou'sse, please," [ _warble_ ] said, and gave him the Big House paper.

Raffi Davtyan stared at the shakily-written address, then at the creepy kid staring at him with creepy expectant politeness. "...You got money?"

The boy fished a credit card out of his pocket.

Raffi thought of what might happen if this kid turned out to be some sort of 100-year-old meta with reality-bending powers or something who might or might not be a supervillain. No point in angering him if he wasn't causing trouble; better to be safe than sorry. "Get in."

o.o.o.o.o

Bruce, frantically trying to keep track of the efforts to secure an emergency placement for Peter, looking up everyone whose phone number was dialed, got distracted by an alarm. "What-?!"

He leaned over to look, as did Alfred and Duke from where they were doing tech support on different screens. One of the trackers hidden in Jack's shoes was reporting that he was moving away from his foster home. There was no camera in the Reynards' bedroom (Bruce wasn't _that_ invasive), so he didn't know for sure whether they were in there or not. The rest of the house was empty, and both cars were still on the property. Bruce checked their security system, and found that it had been disarmed to permit an exit from the front door and had not been re-armed afterward.

He commed the Bats on patrol, doublechecking to make sure that Red Robin's and Nightwing's lines were open. "The smallest bird is on the loose, possibly alone."

There was some swearing in response.

 _"Where's he headed?"_ Red Robin demanded immediately.

Bruce sent a map showing Jack's movements in real time.

 _"He's in a vehicle,"_ Nightwing observed, the only explanation for the tracker's speed. _"Was he kidnapped, or did he run away?"_

"I'm reviewing the video footage. No one approached the house; he walked out of it alone."

 _"Is he headed home?"_ Robin/Batman wondered. _"To the cave, I mean?"_

There was a pause as everyone stared at the tracker's route.

"We have to intercept regardless," Bruce said. There was no telling whether the driver was a decent person or one who would harm a child.

 **Version 1**

"I'm suiting up. I'll probably get there first, but I can't make direct contact with him, so I need someone to meet me there as soon as possible."

 _"On my way,"_ Nightwing promised.

A few minutes later, the Batmobile swept toward the city, and cut off the taxi soon after it exited the highway. The minute the driver saw Batman bearing down on him, he leaped out of his car and backed away with his hands raised. "I didn't do anything! The kid's fine! He _asked_ me!"

Ignoring him, Batman stopped at what he hoped was a safe distance to look into the car, but he was too late - Jack had already thrust open the far passenger door and was fleeing. Batman rushed to herd him into an enclosed area. He didn't try to touch or come near the child, but Jack was now trapped between two buildings with a fence at his back. He squeezed himself into a corner and tightly gripped what looked like a fork in both hands, looking terrified.

There was a standoff for several minutes after the cab driver made his escape. Batman didn't move, standing guard and not looking directly at the boy. Jack remained motionless, still clutching his little weapon like a broadsword.

After what felt like ages, Nightwing arrived. "Jackie!" He slowed when he got close, not wanting to frighten Jack if the boy didn't recognize him, but Jack took one look and threw himself into Nightwing's arms, bursting into tears. "It's okay, Jackie," Nightwing whispered, holding his little bird tight with one arm and gently scrubbing his other hand through the child's hair to soothe him. "You're safe. I've got you. Batman is not going to hurt you. It's all right."

He looked up and found Batman awkwardly hovering nearby, holding the boy's backpack. When Jack, shivering and tearful, looked over his shoulder, Batman slowly offered the stuffed bear.

Jack stared at the toy for a long time. Finally he wiggled out of Nightwing's arms, crept close, snatched Bear out of Batman's hand, and stared at it for a while. Suddenly he snarled and lunged at his backpack; he dug a steak knife out of it and stabbed it viciously into the bear's belly, ripping downward. Batman and Nightwing watched in horror as the child tore the toy apart, fingers clawing through the stuffing spilling out of its stomach and head.

The attack slowed. Jack's fingers probed through gutted toy again, more carefully this time - then he sobbed. He was tender now as he pushed the stuffing back inside as best he could, and cradled the toy gently. "I sowwy, Bbea'...! I sowwy...!"

 _'He wasn't attacking it,'_ Nightwing realized numbly. It would never occur to a child to think there had been something dangerous hidden inside their favorite toy unless they had previous experience with such a thing.

"Ddick'ie," Jack wept, "I hhurr't Bbea'! Ppoorr Bea', oww, oww, he ssad...!"

"Jack," Nightwing whispered, kneeling to rest one protective hand on Bear and the other on Jack's shoulder. "It's okay. Grandpa can fix him. Let's take you home, okay? Let's go home."

Jack sniffled and wiped tears from his eyes. Then he looked at Batman, and his face hardened. He carefully pushed Bear to be cradled in Nightwing's arm, then went to the man who had the information he needed.

 **Version 2**

"Someone needs to tail the vehicle in case it doesn't come to the cave as expected."

 _"I'm on my way,"_ Red Robin said.

"I'll meet you." Batman readied himself and set out, eventually getting a visual on the taxi just outside the city. A scan revealed that Jack and the driver were the only ones in the car, so Batman relaxed a little. He wouldn't have to intervene and potentially frighten the child, since it was unlikely the driver would do any harm while the vehicle was in motion. Batman could tail the car and wait for backup to arrive.

The taxi made its way closer and closer to Crest Hill, but then made an unexpected turn rather than continuing on the road toward Wayne Manor. "They have a different destination," Batman reported sharply.

He felt like an idiot when Red Robin said, _"I see it. I think they're headed for Drake Manor."_

 _"Oh no,"_ Nightwing said in dismay. _"His parents won't be there."_

 _"He knows_ _that_ _,"_ Red Robin said in annoyance. _"He needs to get something from there, maybe his own transportation. Either he didn't know how to give directions straight to Wayne Manor, or he's trying to protect the driver."_

The three vigilantes were already waiting at Drake Manor, undetected by any of the occupants (Tim owned the estate and was renting it out), by the time the taxi pulled up. They watched the driver hand a credit card back to Jack, talk to him for a minute, then drive away. Jack trotted purposefully a little past the gate, pushed his backpack through and then easily squeezed himself after it between the bars of the fence, and headed straight for the garage. He tried a side door and found it locked. Undeterred, he hunted down some rocks and raised the first one to throw at a window. He yelped when Red Robin emerged out of the shadows.

"What are you up to, Jack?"

The boy twittered at him.

"You know I don't understand Bird."

 _"Please give me house number."_

"...I don't understand that, either."

Jack sighed and turned to the approaching Nightwing. _"Please give me house number."_

"Which house, Jackie?"

 _"Brothers."_

"John and Peter? House number- You want to know where John and Peter are?" Red Robin worked out. "You want the addresses?"

"A'ddessa. _House number."_

"This is 'address,'" Nightwing taught him, then realized, "You're going after them yourself. You crossed half the city all by yourself to look for your bird brothers...oh, Jackie...!"

Jack stiffened. The young men followed his gaze and angrily hissed at the lurking Batman to get back out of sight, but then Jack started moving purposefully toward the Dark Knight.

 **Continued from either version:**

He looked frightened, but he didn't pause. His family watched nervously. None of them were expecting Jack to drop to his knees and cling ingratiatingly to his master's leg.

"No, Jack," Batman snapped, stooping to pry the boy away. He pulled down his cowl. "It's me. It's Bruce. I don't want you to do that."

Jack cooed at him and hugged him and nuzzled him.

"Stop. If you want something, just ask. Don't pretend."

Jack still kept the charming smile and the fetching head tilt as he signed, _"Please give me address."_

"...We will bring your brothers to you. You can stay somewhere safe while you wait, and we will bring John and Peter home."

" _crow_ "

"Use human wo-"

" _crow crow crow_ " the child insisted, starting to pull off his shirt. Batman grabbed his arms to stop him. " _crow_ "

"Don't do that!"

"...Please," Jack said, pronouncing carefully, "Bbat'mman g'iffve me [ _chirp-_ Jjohnny ann'd Ppe'tterr."

"We will take you home, you will be safe while you wait, and we will bring your brothers home to you."

Jack stood there in Batman's grip, breathing heavily for a minute. Then his face twisted with anger and he began to scream and fight. "GGIB ME [ _CHIRP-CHIRP_ ] [ _CAW_ ], GIB ME GIB ME GIB ME!"

Batman thrust the child at his older sons. "Take him to the cave."

"[ _chirp-chirp_ ]! [ _caw_ ]! [ _chirp-chirp_ ]! [ _caw_ ]...!"

To be continued...


	63. Deleted sequence: Foster Care - Part 5

_The Birds Who Smile_ , a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Deleted sequence: General Foster Care - Part 5 (rough draft)

 **A/N: I'm starting to have trouble with the choreography, so I decided to just say "Screw it." This is a deleted sequence, so there's no point in forcing things to happen as smoothly or plausibly as they'd need to if it was a genuine part of the story.**

o.o.o

Leaving the boy in Nightwing and Red Robin's care, Batman hurried to the cave ahead of them, checked in on Peter and found no progress on the boy's situation, then set up a background soundtrack to make it sound like he was at a club before calling the Reynards.

 _"Mmn...hello...?"_ Ginny said sleepily.

"Gabbyyyy! Where are you, hot stuff?"

 _"Hello?"_ Ginny repeated in bewilderment.

"Gabby! It's Bruce! Can you hear me? Let me step outside, the music's so loud~" He lowered the soundtrack.

 _"I think you have a wrong number."_

"Wrong number? This is Bruce Wayne, I'm trying to reach- Who is this?"

 _"This is the Reynard residence,"_ she said impatiently.

"Reyn- OH! Oh, you're Jack's foster mom! Sorry, I think I hit the wrong name in my contacts list or something. Hey, so how is Jackie, anyway?"

 _"Mr. Wayne, it's nearly midnight! My husband and I are in bed!"_

"Oh, wow, I'm so sorry! So Jackie's doing well, huh? Settling in okay?"

 _"He's fine, Mr. Wayne."_

"I don't suppose I could talk to him, could I? I'll be real quick, I promise."

 _"Mr. Wayne, it's MIDNIGHT. Jack is SLEEPING, like normal six-year-olds do at MIDNIGHT."_

 _'He is not sleeping, you stupid woman, get out of bed and go look-'_ Bruce worked to calm himself down. He couldn't let even a hint of his anger and frustration seep into his tone. "You could just peek to make sure, though, right? Maybe he can't sleep because he's in a new place all alone. Poor kid, I hope he's not lonely. He's got Bear the bear with him, right? His teddy?"

 _"Uuuugghh, Mr. Wayne..."_

"It's very important, you know! Why, when I was a kid, I couldn't get to sleep unless I had my bear Zorro with-"

Ginny hung up. Bruce sat there, hand pressed to the headset, trembling a little with suppressed outrage. Then, after a long moment, the camera in the hallway showed the door to the master bedroom open. Bruce relaxed for a moment, then clenched his teeth when Ginny shuffled right past Jack's room and went to the kitchen to get a glass of milk. She puttered around for a few minutes, and Bruce wanted to throttle something. At last she headed back toward the bedrooms, and he was literally on the edge of his seat, willing her to stop and check inside Jack's room.

To his intense relief, she paused outside the door. Then she pushed it open and peered in.

He relaxed a little when he saw her body go rigid with tension. She stood there for a moment, then snapped the light on. She began rushing through the house, calling frantically for Jack, then woke her husband.

 _"Oh, thank you so much, Sherry, that's wonderful!"_

Bruce's attention was abruptly pulled away from the Reynards when he realized that the agency must have found someone who'd agreed to take Peter for at least one night. He nearly jumped at Tim's gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'll keep an eye on the Reynards. Dick's got Jack."

Bruce stared around the cave. Jack was in Dick's lap, one hand holding the chew fidget he was sucking on and his other hand clinging tightly to the Nightwing uniform. As Dick sang to him, he stared over his oldest brother's shoulder, tears trickling down his face, intently watching Alfred mend his bear. Duke was still on duty for Cassandra and Damian, so Bruce moved over to a different computer to resume tracking Peter.

Sherry Henderson. Bruce looked up her records and got a bad feeling almost at once. Although none of the accusations had been proven or pursued, there were several claims of abuse or neglect involving the children in her care. _'I can't let Peter-'_ Short of kidnapping, though, which would just make things worse in the long run, there was nothing he could do to get the boy into a better home. _'It's just for one night.'_ Presumably. He still needed to get to that address. "What's the status on the Reynards?" he demanded.

"They've reported him missing," Tim said. "I nudged some evidence, so the police will hopefully look up the taxi records and security cam footage from the convenience store near where Jack got picked up."

Tim had it covered. "I'm going to deal with Peter's placement. How is John?"

"Give me a minute."

While he waited, Bruce looked over at Jack again. The little boy had fallen asleep in Dick's arms, with the repaired Bear nestled in his own. _"...Good?"_ he signed hesitantly.

Dick shifted a little so he could sign back, _"My baby."_

 _"They are desperate now, so they might let us keep him."_ Unless the Reynards were insistent. _"Take him to bed."_

 _"Other birds?"_

 _"Tim is checking on John. I'm going to see Peter soon."_

Dick frowned disapprovingly.

 _"I will not let him see me. I'll guard only."_

 _"I hate this."_

 _"...Should we have kept them?"_

 _"Yes!"_

 _"They were frightened. John is a suicide risk."_

 _"They're MORE scared now! J is STILL a suicide risk! They're separated! We screwed up!"_

Jack, disturbed by Dick's emotional signing, stirred and whimpered.

 _"Bed,"_ Bruce demanded, and this time Dick stood up to carry the child upstairs without protest.

"Trouble," Tim said.

Bruce came to at the screen showing camera views from John's group home. Apparently the boy was throwing another fit; most of the night staff had converged on him, and the other children in the home were standing around in their sleepwear, watching. Chase, unnoticed by anyone but his roommate, was having another panic attack. "What happened?"

"Hard to tell from just the hall cam, but I guess John wasn't sleeping. When one of the night staff checked his room, she went inside for a while. She came back out to get a drink for him and what I'm guessing might have been a sedative. She brought it to him, and then seven minutes later, all hell broke loose, and now here we are."

On the screen, John had stopped fighting, though whether because he was unconscious or mentally checked out or for some other reason, there was no way to tell. Two staff members remained to get him into bed; the others started trying to disperse the other children. One of them finally noticed Chase's plight, then others hurried to tend to him, and the children continued either watching the show or occupying themselves during the commotion.

"Keep an eye on the situation," Bruce said heavily. "I'm going out after Peter."

o.o.o.o.o

It was long past midnight when a tired-looking woman showed up. "This him?"

"Yes, Sherry. Really, thank you again, thank you _so much_ , I can't tell you how grateful we are-"

"Yeah, that's fine. Hey, kiddo." She bent down to shake Peter roughly. He woke up with a shriek and took a swing at her, but she slapped his arm away in time to protect herself. The night secretary gasped and hastily looked away as if she hadn't seen. "Let's go, you wanna sleep somewhere better than this floor, right?"

"[ _chirp-chirp_ ] [ _warble_ ]," Peter demanded.

"That's nice. Come on, pick up that bag, I'm not carrying all your luggage for you." In the car, she slapped Peter a few times while she was forcing the seatbelt on him, and deftly dodged his retaliatory strikes. He hissed and snarled and crowed, but once the car started moving, he got distracted gazing in fascination out the window at all the passing street lights in the darkness.

When they arrived at the apartment, Peter struggled the whole way up the stairs as a matter of principle, retaliating for all the times she hit him to try to keep him moving. She practically threw him through her front door and shoved his bags in after him. She slammed the door shut and then went to sit in front of the TV and light up a cigarette.

"What the hell," her daughter's boyfriend complained, having just drained his third beer can.

"Some punk kid they couldn't find a home for. Real little monster; keep away from him."

Meanwhile, [ _caw_ ] rescued Dog and hugged him, then, because the woman wasn't hitting him or making him do things anymore and hadn't tied him, he went to explore. There wasn't much food in the refrigerator or food room, and the woman and man yelled at him and tried to hit him when they saw him looking, so he hissed at them and swiped at them and ran, clutching the little bit he'd managed to steal. They didn't chase him. So this was a food-finding place, not a food-giving place. That was okay, he already ate lots and lots today.

He went on looking. This was the water room, so small and ugly; he liked This Bat's water rooms much better. Another room had lots of kids in it, all bigger than him. Two of them were sleeping; one was playing a game like the ones on [ _warble_ ]'s phone; two more were kissing. Boring. [ _caw_ ] went to another room, and there was a woman sleeping in it, and a baby. [ _caw_ ] petted the baby, it was soft.

He went into the last room, and it smelled bad but the bed was very big (there was food in it, but it tasted bad, so he stopped eating it). He would have played with the ants in the bed, but there was something much better to play with in the corner, it was a dog. A Titus dog, not a Dog dog, except it was little like Dog instead of big like Titus. It was white and smelled like poop and very sad, and probably hungry. It cried and licked licked licked [ _caw_ ]'s fingers while he tried to break its cage. He pushed his hands on the little sticking out things, it was very hard to push hard enough the exact right stupid way, but finally he did it. Sad Poop was immediately in his lap, licking and licking and licking and whining _"Frantic/sad/happy!"_

[ _caw_ ] kissed and pet and played with Sad Poop, and gave her some of the food in his pocket to eat. Her fur was stiff with dried muck, but that wasn't her fault, so he kept petting her. When she finally calmed down, he picked her up, her and Dog squeezed together in his arms, and carried them very carefully to the room with the baby. He crawled under the bed where he and the dogs would be safe, and they all fell asleep.

o.o.o.o.o

Tim called the agency. "Heeeeyyy, this is Timothy Drake, my clone Jack is in foster care. Just wondering why he showed up in Crest Hill a little while ago, unaccompanied."

 _"Jack- Wait, you mean the little Joker ki-?! I mean, Timothy Jackson Drake, Ctr.?"_

"Yup. I'm not complaining or anything, I'm just wondering-"

 _"He's with YOU?!"_

"He took a taxi. Like, an honest-to-God taxicab. He called us from the driveway of Drake Manor, and we went to pick him up. I think he stole his foster parents' credit card."

 _"Hold on, hold on just a second, Mr. Drake, please don't hang up!"_ She put him on hold, and Tim almost leisurely eavesdropped on what she was saying out of his official hearing. _"Diane! Diane, that was Tim Drake on the phone, that was Jack's prime being!"_

 _"The kid's a clone?"_

 _"Diane, he's at DRAKE MANOR! Or Wayne Manor, or something; he's all the way in Bristol!"_

 _"You're kidding me."_

 _"They Reynards, Diane, call the-! He said, Mr. Drake said Jack went there in a taxi."_

 _"That's ridiculous! The kid is, like, five."_

 _"Diane, just tell them he's been found so they'll stop panicking!"_

 _"All right, all right!"_

The Reynards were intensely relieved for about two minutes, then angry. Tim watched the lengthy phone tag between them, the agency, and the police, quietly intervening whenever the timing seemed right, and it was eventually worked out that Jack had, indeed, used Gina Reynard's credit card to pay for a taxi ride from the thoroughfare near their neighborhood to Drake Manor.

 _"Mr. Drake,"_ the night secretary said, sounding nervous about passing along the message Tim had just heard, _"the Reynards...they- Well, is there any chance you can keep Jack at least for the night?"_

"I actually want to keep him indefinitely. We had second thoughts about putting the kids into foster care, and Bruce's lawyers are working to get us custody back."

 _"Oh, good! I mean... It's just, the Reynards have always had a strict preference for younger children, this whole thing about running away and stealing money, that's exactly the sort of fostering experience they wanted to avoid."_

"It's fine. Like I said, we want Jack back, he's actually already asleep in his room here."

 _"I'm so glad... To be honest, I don't know where else we could have placed him, especially so last-minute. We're already having enough trouble with-"_ She abruptly cut herself off.

"With what?" Tim asked, trying to keep the sharpness out of his tone. "We're also trying to get hold of John and Peter again, too, you know."

 _"Yes...yes, well, I'm very glad that Jack is safe, I hope everything works out for you! Their new social worker should be stopping by the Reynards' tomorrow, they'll bring Jack's things to you. Good night, Mr. Drake!"_ She hung up before he could ask anything else.

To be continued...

A/N: Bruce putting on the Brucie act to explain why he's calling in the middle of the night was originally supposed to be for Peter's foster family, but I did not expect for Peter to behave so badly that he didn't even make it through a single night at his first placement. X'''''D

Apparently it's Batfam Week. I think I heard about that being a thing and wrote a note to myself about it, which I promptly lost and forgot about. X''D I wish I could have participated, and I have nostalgia for the days when I used to write stories for tons of pairing days and holidays in the Kingdom Hearts fandom, but unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to do Batfam Week this year. Even if my responsibilities didn't get in the way, my muse is 100% obsessed with TBWS at the moment. It's cool to see so many other people writing for it, though!


	64. Deleted sequence: Foster Care - Part 6

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Deleted sequence: General Foster Care - Part 6 (rough draft)**

Outside the Henderson apartment, Batman had set up what cameras he could, then perched on the building opposite. Heat and x-ray scans showed three adult-sized bodies, two in one area of the apartment and the third horizontal in what was probably a bedroom. That one had either a baby or a small pet in the bed with it, it was difficult to tell from this distance. Five child-sized bodies were crammed into what must have been a second bedroom, and an animal was alone in a far corner of the dwelling.

The sixth child-sized body was probably Peter, since it was actively roaming as Batman would have expected Peter to do upon being introduced to a new environment and left to his own devices. The child knelt by the lone animal for a long time, then picked it up and carried it to the room with the sleeping adult and baby/pet, where it looked like he must have crawled under the bed, presumably to sleep. _'And what are you doing all this time, Henderson?'_ Batman thought resentfully at the motionless larger heat blob in the living room.

He kept vigil for hours. At one point, the smaller adult from the living room came to lie down with the sleeping one, and a few minutes later, they were having sex. Peter's shape jerked in what looked like panic and Batman tensed, but then the boy slowed and wandered out of the room at an unhurried pace, so he'd probably just been startled awake by the noise. The animal, which moved more like a dog than a cat, was practically glued to his heels. Peter looked like he was now searching for something in a different part of the apartment.

Suddenly, the third adult shape, which had been motionless for some time, lumbered upright and marched toward the child. Batman very nearly called out a warning, then cursed his own stupidity; Peter wouldn't be able to hear him from out here. The dog hastily retreated, and Batman was frozen with indecision for a moment, the urge to protect his son warring with the insufficient grounds for intervention. Hopefully, Henderson would keep any attacks purely verbal.

The hope was dashed a second later; she had definitely struck the child, again while Batman went into motion, then a third time while he was shooting out his grapple line. The vigilante could hear her shouting and Peter's furious shrieks and the dog's barking even without the cowl's enhancements. An instant later, he was crashing through the window.

o.o.o.o.o

The problem was that he couldn't just pick up his son and take him home. Even if he wasn't currently surrounded by police officers and frightened children, there was still the fact that Peter, cowering there in the corner with both the real dog and his stuffed one clutched in his arms, would never willingly go anywhere with a person he feared and loathed so much.

"What will be done with the children?" Batman asked one of the officers gruffly.

"CPS is on their way. You know, we've gotten a lot of reports about this place; first time we had enough proof to arrest her. Lucky you were passing by when you did."

"I was tracking down a lead in a different case, but the children are more important." The officer's attention was pulled elsewhere, and Batman very carefully signed to the boy in the corner, _"You are safe?"_

 _"...Stay away!"_

 _"Yes."_

After a long pause, the corner of Peter's mouth curled up. Batman went breathless and didn't dare move for fear he'd destroy the moment. _"Good hit."_

 _"...I want to protect you."_

The little lopsided smile turned to bared teeth and a hiss. Batman melted out of the apartment and went to keep watch on a different building.

It was now a little after dawn, and Tim's voice came through the comm. _"Are you going to work today?"_

"...Are you?"

 _"Probably."_

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

 _"...Yes."_

"Micro-naps don't count. Did you sleep for at least two continuous hours, Red Robin?"

 _"So you_ _are_ _going in to work, then?"_ the teen challenged.

Batman closed his eyes briefly in frustration. Work was the last place he wanted to be today, but he knew that if he didn't go in, his sleep-deprived son would. Tim needed rest. "Yes. I just want to see who comes to pick up Bird 2, then I'll head back."

 _"Fine."_

o.o.o.o.o

"Hi there, Peter!"

[ _caw_ ] cautiously watched the new approaching big person.

"My name is Cole Sullivan. Nice to meet you!" _"Friendly, curious."_

Big people wanted you to shake their hands when they stuck them out like this, so [ _caw_ ] did.

"Looks like I'm your new social worker! And you're the first one of your brothers I get to meet. I hear there's two more?"

[ _caw_ ] knew that word 'brothers.' "Jjohnny Jjja'ckk mmy bboddas. Ggimme."

"That's right, John and Peter and Jack. We're gonna go on back to the main office, okay? I got a looootta phone calls to make about you!"

[ _caw_ ] didn't mind going with the man, but they wanted him to _leave Sad Poop behind_. "NO! NO NO NO NO NOOOO!"

"Uh...Peter...seriously, we can't take the dog with us..."

o.o.o.o.o

Batman looked up Cole Sullivan and was dismayed to find how young the man was - this was his first job other than the part-time work he'd done in college, and he'd only been hired a month ago. He didn't seem upset by Peter's tantrum, but was helpless and confused when the boy refused to be soothed. After a while, Cole started working on his phone, leaving Peter to scream and kick on the floor. By now, Sherry had been taken away, her daughter was wearily still talking to the police, the daughter's boyfriend had vanished, and all the other children had been picked up by their social workers. With no one feeding Peter's tantrum, he eventually calmed down.

An animal control worker had arrived by that time and was watching Peter warily. "They sent me out for a dog, but maybe I should take the kid instead," he joked to Cole.

"Hah! Don't do that," Cole laughed. "Poor puppy, I think it's been abused or something. The daughter and boyfriend didn't want it, so I guess it's going to the pound?"

"If the kid'll let me have it."

"Well, I can't let him take it... Here, I'm going to distract him with some candy."

Peter was successfully distracted, but when the dog was picked up, it started making high-pitched yelps like screams, and Peter started screaming again, too. He attacked the animal control worker until Cole managed to haul him off. The worker tossed the dog into his van, scrambled into the driver's seat, and drove away with a screech of tires. Cole held Peter in a restraint, checking to make sure he'd gotten it right, until Peter's screams finally dissolved into tears. Batman, watching, found himself trembling with anger and helplessness.

"D'ddo'ggie...ddo'ggie...!" the boy wailed brokenly.

"Aw...it's okay, Peter," Cole said awkwardly. "Some foster families have dogs, maybe you'll meet another cute one soon." He managed to haul the child to his car. Peter, finding _yet another_ horrible seatbelt being fastened around him, pushed and fought, but he was so _tired_ , so sad that it made him tired, he couldn't stop the man from tying him. He cried for Sad Poop, and he reached for Dog instead, but he couldn't find Dog and it didn't matter anyway because Dog was just a thing, Dog wasn't alive, Sad Poop was alive and scared and they were probably going to eat her, and he would never see her again. She was so sad and he'd wanted her to be happy, but now she was even more sad. Maybe it was his fault...he lied to her, he told her it would be okay, but it wasn't okay...

Batman, after confirming that Cole was heading to the agency's headquarters to drop off Peter, went after the animal control van. He made his way inside while it was still moving, got hold of the filthy, squirming white terrier mix, and grappled off into the sunrise without the driver even being aware of his presence.

The dog _would not stop barking_ for thirty straight minutes. Finally, she lay down in a corner of the Batmobile and started whining instead, high-pitched noises that sounded like weeping, and that was even worse. "Just...hold on, we're almost home," Batman muttered.

When he got to the Batcave, he found that the entire rest of the household had gone to bed already, so he was the one who had to get the dog settled. He didn't have time to care for her properly, but he made sure that the crate he put her in was large, and he included some toys with her water and food, the latter which she attacked as if she was starving. He texted Alfred and Damian to alert them of the manor's latest occupant, then hurried to shower and change before heading off again, this time to Wayne Enterprises.

o.o.o.o.o

After Cole dropped off Peter at the agency's main office, he drove over to the Reynards' house to pick up Jack's things.

"How is he?" Ginny asked as she and her husband helped Cole load the car.

"I actually haven't even seen him yet! I only just got assigned to them today; the only one I've met so far is Peter."

"I just can't believe it... He's only _six_ , yet he ran away and took a taxi to Bristol all by himself, what sort of child _does_ that?!"

Cole whistled, impressed. "A pretty smart one, I guess." And a lucky one, to have made such a journey safely in Gotham.

"I thought he was happy! We were kind to him, we took good care of him, he was such a good, sweet boy. Then he goes and does _this_ behind our backs! What sort of child does that?! He's _six_!"

"Now you're making me curious." He shut the trunk of the car.

Louis Reynard shook his hand. "Well, tell Jack we wish him the best."

"Will do." Cole drove all the way to Wayne Manor, grateful for the invention of GPS, otherwise he would have gotten completely lost. When he finally made it to the front doors, an actual butler answered. "Wow! That's so cool, I didn't know people still have butlers. Do I put Jack's things here in the hall, or...?"

"That will do for now."

Once all Jack's luggage was inside, Cole asked if he could talk to the boy himself. "Figure I'd better meet him, since I'm his social worker now."

The butler's tone was so chilly that Cole felt his spine creep. "Surely you don't intend to take the child to a different residence?"

"Oh, no, geez, they're going crazy about these kids back at the office, I'm just glad _you_ don't want me to haul him out of here. Poor kid just got kicked out, I feel bad for him."

"I see." The butler showed him into a fancy den, where _The Incredibles_ was playing on a giant TV. Dick Grayson was dozing on a couch that looked big, but seemed small because there was also a child, a Great Dane, and a cat crammed onto it. The dog was also asleep, stretched out contentedly alongside the humans; the cat was curled up by Dick's head; the boy was huddled between the young man and the dog as he sucked on a chew fidget and watched the movie. As soon as Cole entered, the child tightened his grip on Grayson and started to whimper, and a second dog, a little fluffy white thing huddled on a pillow nearby, immediately leaped to its feet and started barking.

Grayson groaned at the noise.

"Oh, man, I didn't mean to bother you!" Cole said quickly, raising his hands. "I just wanted to meet you real quick, Jack."

The child stared at him fearfully. Grayson sat up, forcing the Great Dane to shift, and put both arms around the little boy. "Please don't take him. His life's been disrupted enough, and we _want_ to keep him. He'll start screaming and maybe hurt somebody if you try to take him."

"Oh, no, I just wanted to meet him! I mean, I'm his social worker; I'm supposed to meet my kids, right?"

The child looked even more terrified, now clinging to Grayson with both little hands.

"Hey, Jack," Cole said gently. "My name's Cole. I'm your new social worker, I'm just here to drop off your stuff. You know, if this is a good home for you, you get to stay here, right?" He hadn't had time to read much of the Joker kids' files yet, but it was pretty clear that the Waynes, despite putting them into foster care in the first place, still wanted them, and that nobody else did.

"His prime being lives here," Grayson went on, his voice as tense as his body. "Tim's seventeen but he's legally emancipated, he's rich enough to take care of a kid, and he loves Jack. Bruce will adopt Jack if Tim can't. Jack loves Tim, too, he's used to living here, you can't take him away."

Cole was starting to get the feeling he wasn't wanted. "Uh...well, like I said, I'm just here to drop off his stuff. Jack, I'm not a bad guy, okay?" He held out his hand to shake. After two minutes of trying to convince the child to greet him, he finally just gave up; he was starting to get texts about the other two Joker kids, anyway. "Well, it was good to meet you. I'll see you guys later, okay?"

"Ggoo'dbbye, goo'dbbye, goo'dbbye," the child chanted like it was a ward against evil.

"Bye, Jack." Cole headed out after Peter again.

To be continued...

A/N: Why is this scenario so long?! I keep trying to at least get into the final stretch, but the story just keeps getting longer and longer and longer, like TBWS itself. X''''D I think Peter's and Jack's plotlines will resolve soon, but John's is long.


	65. Deleted sequence: Foster Care - Part 7

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Deleted sequence: General Foster Care - Part 7 (rough draft)**

He had to drive all the way back to the main office to get Peter again, because they'd finally found someone who'd take him as an emergency placement. "He's not an inmate or anything," Cole made sure to tell the hard-faced woman and man who approached him in the lobby. He could feel Peter pressing into his side, and he felt bad. "He wasn't arrested, it's just an emergency foster placement. Be nice to him, okay?"

"We know what to do with kids who bite," the woman said ominously.

Cole didn't like the way she was looking at Peter, or how frightened Peter looked. He knelt to put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Hey, Petey, so this is just temporary, okay? I think the Waynes want you back, they're probably working on getting custody, but for now, you're just going to be here for a little while, okay? I'll call you every day to see how you're doing. Just don't bite anyone, be good, and you'll probably do fine, okay?"

"...[ _chirp-chirp_ ], [ _warble_ ]."

"Um, and maybe don't make bird noises, because the kids might make fun of you for that." He stood up again and patted Peter's shoulder. "You'll be okay."

It wasn't okay, though. When the other man took Peter's arm and tried to pull him away, Peter hissed and clung to Cole. The situation rapidly deteriorated, and then Cole was staring as three bleeding and shouting adults pinned a screaming, writhing, panicked child to the floor, and he understood now why the last social worker had quit and why the kids had such a hard time being placed.

He turned away and called the office. "Hey, so, uh! I just dropped off Peter the bird kid, or I'm trying to, but Ree, this is _not_ going well! Like, at all. He's scared and they're making it worse, I have to take him to a different foster home!"

 _"Cole, THERE IS NO OTHER FOSTER HOME. No one wants him! No one wants these kids, even the freaking Wayne Foundation doesn't want them."_

Cole knew what she was referring to. "They're not getting rid of John, they're just switching him with a different home. Peter, though - I mean, it's bad, Ree. They've got him all pinned, treating him like a criminal, he's just a _kid_ , Ree! He bites and stuff because he's scared! Jack didn't try to bite at Wayne Manor; can I take Peter back to the Waynes?"

 _"Cole, Wayne put him in foster care, Grayson made himself ineligible, and the prime doesn't give two flips about his clone. I don't know what strings they're pulling or what lawyers they're talking to, but as of this moment, the files I'm looking at are stuffed with can'ts. We're_ _lucky_ _that_ _anyone_ _will take them."_

"Ree...Ree, I can't just leave him here." Cole's heart broke as he watched Peter being dragged away, screaming. "Oh no, they forgot his dog- Ree, I'll call you back, okay?" He hung up and went to retrieve the stuffed dog from the floor where it had fallen and been kicked aside. He wasn't fast enough following them, and he couldn't get through the set of doors when they automatically locked behind the people forcing Peter down the hall. By the time Cole had gotten hold of the director, convinced him to allow the door to be opened, and waited ages until a grudging custodian finally trudged up to unlock it, he had no idea where Peter was.

"I just want to give him his dog!" Cole said helplessly, giving up for the moment on placing the child elsewhere.

"He can have it when his punishment is over."

"What kind of punishment?! You don't use corporal punishment here, do you?!"

"Of course not. He'll be in solitary for an hour or so until he calms down."

"He- I told you, he's not a criminal offender like the other kids here are-"

" _No one_ here is allowed to bite, not even the overflows from the foster system."

"Well...well, then, just...where's his stuff? I'll put the dog with his stuff, he can have it when he gets out..."

As soon as Cole left the building, he called the contact number he'd been given for Bruce Wayne.

 _"You have reached Wayne Manor. How many I help you?"_

"Is this-? Uh, is this the butler?"

 _"Yes, sir. With whom am I speaking?"_

"Well, this is Cole Sullivan, the social worker; I was trying to get hold of Bruce Wayne. If he's still interested in what's going on with Peter, at least."

The butler's voice sharpened. _"You have news of Master Peter?"_

"Yeah, see, they told me they had a placement for him, but it's-" He abruptly remembered the confidentiality policies. "Uhhh, sorry, I think I can only tell Mr. Wayne himself, or, no, actually, just the prime being. Just, do you guys want _all_ the Joker kids, or just Jack?"

 _"We fully intend to bring all three of our children back home as soon as possible."_

"Oh, good," Cole said, relieved. "Well, I guess I'll see you when you've got everything worked out, then. Thanks, Mr.-!" He didn't know the butler's name. "Uh, sir." He hung up and then drove to his next stop of the day, which was John's group home.

Apparently the kid had been disturbing the other children to the point where at least one of them was in danger of deteriorating mental health, so John was being switched with a child from another Wayne Foundation group home. Cole knocked on the door warily, wondering if this one would be a frightened wreck like Jack or a frightened thunderstorm like Peter. As it turned out, the oldest boy was just a complete blank, and Cole wondered how this unresponsive doll could have caused multiple panic attacks in his housemates.

"Hi, John," Cole said gently, kneeling beside the child. "My name is Cole, I'm here to take you to another home. You think you can walk for me?" There was absolutely no response. "Is he asleep?" Cole asked one of the nearby staff members in confusion.

"He checks out. He's usually either wreaking havoc or dissociating, there's not much middle ground."

"Oh, geez. I wonder why he's like that?"

The woman raised her eyebrow at him, then reached for John and gently raised his chin. "See this?" she said, indicating his scarred neck. "What's that look like to you?"

Cole squinted.

"Look." She lifted the boy's arm, fingertips hovering over the scars at his wrist and the other marks that disappeared up into his sleeve. "His entire body is like that. His back is _covered_ with whip scars. What do you think it does to a child, to suffer like that _on top_ of whatever Joker crap he was drugged up on? He needs more help than we can give him. This boy might need more help than _anyone_ can give him."

"Help like...therapy? Or something?"

"He refuses to interact in any way with the psychologist, and he reacts very badly to any kind of drug - he can _tell_ , even when we try to hide it in his food. He won't even eat any food at all, whether it's got drugs in it or not. Honestly, we don't know what to do with this kid."

Cole stared, unable to think of anything to say.

"The only thing I can think of is reuniting him with his brothers, the other Joker children - he keeps making bird noises when he looks out the window, like he's calling them. Do you know if they've found a home for all three yet, or even just two of them?"

"It's crazy, everyone's been on the phone about it all day, but they keep causing trouble at the only homes that will take them. I want to give them all back to Wayne, even the Waynes want them back, but there's...paperwork? That says they can't? I don't know what happened, but they said they're getting their lawyers to work on it, so I'm hoping they'll get whatever it is cleared up soon."

"I hope so, too." The woman leaned down to kiss John's hair. "I'm sorry it didn't work out, Johnny. Maybe we'll see you again someday."

The boy was a robot until Cole tried to put him in the car, then suddenly he came to life like an enraged tiger cub. He screamed and clawed and fought, and one of the group home staff had to help him get the kid into a restraint. " _Owww_ , John!" Cole winced, unable to touch the blood running down his skin but feeling the sting of the scratches on his neck. "You gotta calm down, little guy!"

He lost count of how many minutes the boy raged. Then all of a sudden he went limp and started _laughing_ , laughing and laughing like Joker's victims did, even though there was no way he could have been Jokerized when they'd been watching him the whole time. "Holy cow, John, can you stop? That's really creepy." He didn't stop. Cole managed to get a hand on the boy's face and look directly into his eyes. "John, please stop laughing."

He did. He stared intently into Cole's eyes, then glared and made bird noises.

"Yeah, that's better. You can make the warbley noise, okay?" He'd much, much rather listen to bird noises than that laughter.

"[ _caw_ ]! [ _warble_ ]!"

"That's right. Good." It took both adults to wrestle John into his seatbelt, and then Cole rewarded the boy with a candy, which he promptly hurled away. "Holy cow, John, you could hurt someone doing that! That candy was for _you_ , buddy. It was for you."

" _crow_!"

"You want another one?" Cole gave him another candy.

John stared at him, then, still looking at him, threw the second treat as well.

"Man, don't waste my candy..." Cole looked through the luggage to see if there was a toy he could give John. He found a stuffed elephant, and offered it. John stared at it without making any move to take it. Cole finally put it in the boy's lap, then went around to get into the driver's seat.

Once they were on their way with the phone in hands-free mode, Cole called the group home he was heading to. "Hi, Stacey! It's Cole Sullivan. Just letting you know that I'm on my way with John."

 _"On your-? Is that the boy we were supposed to switch Andrew with?"_

"Yep, that's the one."

 _"Didn't Marianne tell you?! We can't take anyone new today! We got a group of five siblings at four in the morning, that's four kids over capacity even_ _with_ _losing Andrew, we told Marianne to delay the transfer!"_

Cole was dismayed. "Wait, what? Like, I have John in the car right now. We're driving to your place."

 _"I mean, hopefully we can get the Marlow kids placed out soon,_ _then_ _we can take John, but you're going to have to find someone else for him for the next day or two. Marianne didn't tell you?!"_

"I haven't heard from her at all... Well, look, then what am I supposed to do with John? I can't take him back, they're over capacity, too."

 _"I...I don't know, Cole... Maybe if we got five more of our kids transferred, but that's- I mean, we can't do that to them. Andrew wasn't fitting in well here, but everyone else has been pretty happy for the most part, we can't send out_ _five_ _of them, especially if the Marlows are leaving again soon...!"_

"Hmm. Let me make some phone calls; I'll call you back." Cole pulled into a nearby parking lot and then looked up a phone list. He called each number, and was soon surprised by how many homes turned him down the minute they learned who his charge was. He was starting to wonder if he should just drive John to Wayne Manor when he finally got a hit with the third-to-last home on the list.

 _"Sure, we can take him."_

Cole blinked. "Really?!"

 _"I mean, we get a budget raise like normal, right? No weird circumstances with this kid?"_

"I mean, he's a Joker bird kid, but on our end, no, no weird circumstances."

 _"Sure, bring him over."_

"Oh, awesome. Thank you so much, man, I was starting to worry!" He called Stacey back to tell her not to worry, too. Feeling happier himself, he carefully pulled back into traffic. "Did you hear that, John? Someone wants you!" There was no response. Glancing in the mirror showed him a chunk of green-and-black hair and a bit of pale forehead, but he couldn't see the boy's face, and then someone honked as they whizzed by. Cole yelped and concentrated on his driving after that.

To be continued...


	66. Deleted sequence: Foster Care - Part 8

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Deleted sequence: General Foster Care - Part 8 (rough draft)**

A/N: I know it's really spelled "Wearhouse," but I have no idea if the real Men's Wearhouse is what I need, so I'm going with the "Warehouse" spelling to make it fictional. X'D

o.o.o

Everyone was out of bed a little earlier than usual, and ate a quick lunch so that they could be out the door by 11:30. Jack sobbed and tried to squirm away when they attempted to put a seatbelt on him. "Jackie." Dick took his hands and gazed at him earnestly. "You can stay home with Alfred if you want, or you can wear the seatbelt and go with us to see Johnny and Peter. Do you want to stay home with Grandpa, or go see [ _chirp-chirp_ ] and [ _caw_ ]?"

Jack stared back with big tearful blue eyes. "I...wwan'tt...[ _chirp-chirp_ ] [ _caw_ ]...ccome hhere wi' me."

"They can't come home yet, Jackie. We have to go see them. Can you wear a seatbelt so you can go see them, or do you want to stay home and see them later, when we get custody back?"

"No sseatbet!"

"So you're going to stay here with Grandpa?"

Yet Jack wailed when they tried to leave without him.

Tim pushed Dick aside. "Timothy Jackson Drake," he said crisply, holding out a closed fist, "either you stay here at the manor with Alfred and the dogs and _no brothers_ ," he brought up his other fist beside the first, "or you get the seatbelt and Dick and John and Peter. Which one?" He shook each fist to indicate the choices. "You want to stay home, or you want to go in the car? You can't have both. Choose."

After a long moment, the little boy reached out a trembling hand to rest on the car fist.

"You're sure? That means we're going to tie you to that seat so you can't get up, for _hours_."

"Tim-"

"You want the seatbelt _and_ your brothers?" Tim stormed on. "You're sure?"

 _"...Gentle me,"_ Jack signed shakily, and edged toward Dick. He cried when he was buckled in and held tight to Dick's hand, but he didn't struggle or protest this time.

They were soon on their way in the van, Tim driving and Duke beside him and Damian grumbling next to Cassandra in the back. Most of the ride was spent keeping Jack occupied so that he could bear being restrained.

Unfortunately, when they pulled up to John's group home, they were told that the boy had been transferred. "What do you mean he's been _transferred_?!" Dick raged, not realizing that he was frightening Jack. Duke gently tugged the child into his arms to soothe him, and Damian patted his head in an inexpert attempt at the same. "You can't do that without telling me! I'm his prime, I should _know_ if my kid gets kicked out of a foster home!"

"Mr. Grayson, I'm sorry, you're not listed as a contact, so we didn't think-"

"He's MY KID! You can't just-!"

Tim kicked the back of his foot to get his attention and tapped in code on his back, _"Calm."_ "He's worried," he said out loud in an apologetic tone, "like any _parent_ would be if their kid wasn't accounted for."

Dick finally figured out what Tim was trying to tell him, that losing his temper could hurt his case for being a good guardian and jeopardize his chances of getting John back. He tried to swallow his fury. "Where did you send him?"

"To Oak Park Children's Home. I can get you the address."

Damian, standing protectively in front of Jack, demanded, "And just _why_ did you feel the need to get rid of the child who'd been entrusted to your care?" Jack was in Duke's arms, face buried in his foster brother's shoulder and hands clinging to his shirt as the teen murmured reassurances to him.

"We would have kept him, we'll take him back if the situation improves, but he was causing severe distress to our other residents, aggravating at least one case of Joker-related PTSD. I understand and _fully_ sympathize with what John has suffered, but we couldn't keep putting our other children at risk. We're hoping that Oak Park will be a better solution for everyone, including John."

Dick snatched the paper she gave him and stormed back to the car, his siblings following in his wake. "Dick," Tim said sharply, stepping in front of him before he could open the front driver's side door, "are you going to drive recklessly if I let you behind the wheel?"

"GODDAMMIT-"

 _"Still watching!"_ Tim reminded him in sign, and Dick wanted to explode. He squeezed himself into the back seat and tried to meditate away his frustration, leaving Cassandra to comfort Jack through the next seatbelt ordeal.

They never made it to Oak Park, because an important message from Bruce came in before they arrived. "We might not make it in time if we go all the way to the manor and back," Tim said, making a smooth U-turn. "We can't risk being late for this."

"You and Richard aren't dressed properly," Damian pointed out.

"And we can't pop into a fancy store to buy suits for them because...?" Duke suggested.

"Vivaldi's is on the way to the courthouse," Tim agreed.

"They're gonna spend hours brownnosing and trying to swindle all the extras they can get out of us," Dick pointed out, still in a bad mood.

"Men's Warehouse is on the way, too."

"Father's sons can't be seen in attire from _Men's Warehouse_!" Damian protested, scandalized. Tim found it greatly heartwarming that the brat had so matter-of-factly included him in the 'Father's sons' category, not that he would ever admit it.

Duke rolled his eyes. "All they need is just to not show up to a court hearing wearing jeans and T-shirts."

Tim nodded. "Suits are suits. The point is to rescue our birds, not uphold the glory of the Wayne name or whatever."

"-TT- Very well. But I expect those purchases to be donated to charity directly afterward."

"You are such a snob..."

o.o.o.o.o

The morning was a blur. Sleep-deprivation, stress, and preoccupation made it difficult to concentrate. At one point, Lucius simply came to work in Bruce's office, since that was more efficient than Bruce calling or emailing him every twenty minutes.

Just before lunch, Bruce got a call from JoAnn. _"Can you get yourself, Dick, Tim, and Jason to the downtown courthouse before one o'clock?"_

"I can, and Dick and Tim will probably make it if it's for the kids. I still haven't been able to get hold of Jason, though."

 _"Bruce, if that boy wants to keep his chances of making custody decisions for his sweet pumpkin, he had better either show up to the gosh-diddly courthouse or be reported as a missing person."_

"I'll take care of it. What's happened?"

 _"Just me and my brilliant team earning our pay. If their angels up in heaven are smiling today, then all three little treasures will be sitting around your obnoxiously huge supper table tonight, papers and all."_

"Thank you, JoAnn. Really, thank you, I can-"

 _"Just be in court, Wayne, with your sons."_

Bruce immediately messaged Dick and Tim and, hopelessly, Jason. Tim responded with a simple _Fine._ Dick promised to be there and added that the rest of his siblings were with him, including Jack. Bruce supposed there was no harm in them tagging along, assuming Jack didn't have any kind of alarming episode in public.

It was a casual meeting, though Bruce was still glad to see Dick and Tim show up in suits. Judge Mitch Avery was doing a huge favor to JoAnn by meeting with her and her clients during his lunch break. "Okay, so what've we got here?" he asked, bringing his meal back from the microwave.

"The custody papers," JoAnn announced, laying them all out neatly along with other relevant documents. Bruce and Dick were sitting on one side of her, Tim on the other; the others were wandering throughout the courthouse as they waited.

"Let's see here..." They all tried to wait patiently as he looked through the documents. Mitch eventually raised his eyes to move between all the men at his table. "I'm seeing a Bruce Wayne, a Richard Grayson, and a Timothy Drake-Wayne, but who I'm not seeing is a Jason Todd-Wayne."

JoAnn tensed, then relaxed again when Bruce pulled out a file (it was, for the most part, legitimate, though he'd had to Bat-doctor the date to make it seem like he'd filed the report a few days, rather than weeks, after anyone in the family had heard from their wayward brother). "His missing persons report. He _would_ want to make custody decisions for Peter if he knew about the boy's situation, and I am positive he would not want Peter in general foster care."

Mitch looked at the report, then laid it aside. "All right, youngest first. Timothy, talk to me."

"I want someone I trust to adopt Jack," Tim said at once. "I will, if there's no one else, it's just that that I'd have to hire a nanny or something, which I can definitely afford. I'm _not_ happy with him being thrown out into foster care alone. I only let him go in the first place on the understanding that he would be placed together with his brothers, but the agency we entrusted them to decided to separate them."

"Says here he's designated as your brother rather than your son."

"That was before the whole foster mess. If I'd known it was going to turn out like this, I would have claimed him as my son from the start."

"All right. You have anyone in mind to adopt him?"

"I'd been _hoping_ Bruce, but we tried foster care in the first place because the kids weren't settling in at the manor, even after more than two months. If Jack _wants_ to be adopted by Bruce, then I'm all for that, but I can't...really think of anyone else I trust who'd also have the means to raise him. Like I said, I'll adopt him if I have to."

"All right. Well, I can't see any reason to deny you full guardianship for now, so..." He signed a set of papers and pushed them at Tim, who lifted them up very carefully. There was no change in his expression or Bruce's, but Dick let out a deep, relieved exhale on behalf of them both.

"Now then, the oldest one, Richard Grayson, Ctr."

"Johnny. He's mine. Same as with Tim; thought Bruce would adopt him, but I will if there's no one else. I _have_ to get him out of the system, he _needs_ to be with his brothers, I-" He shut his mouth when Bruce discreetly pressed his leg in warning.

"Says here you don't have the means to support your son."

"I signed that because I'd just lost my job, but I have another one now." It was a fib - what he really had was no more pride holding him back from accepting Bruce's money to take care of John, as well as no more reluctance to put his life on hold in order to raise unplanned children, but the end effect was the same. "I've got more than enough income to raise a kid, I can take care of Johnny now. And Peter, if I have to; all three of them. I _want_ to, if no one else does."

Mitch scrutinized Dick's bank statements, then shrugged and signed the guardianship papers for John as well. Dick snatched them up and resisted the urge to hug them.

"And last but not least, the younger Jason Peter Todd, here."

There was a long pause, where only vigilante training prevented the three Waynes from showing their anxiety.

"So Jason prime's been missing for two months?"

"Yes," Bruce said. "He was at the manor when I brought the children home - we'd had more reason to believe back then that the boys would eventually settle in - and nothing seemed amiss. He's always done a lot of traveling, and we expected him to be back for his usual visits. I don't know if he would have wanted to raise Peter himself or allow me to adopt him, but either way, he seemed to be expecting Peter to reside at the manor indefinitely. And like I said, I am certain that he would not have wanted his son in general foster care without his brothers."

"Hmm." Mitch considered, chewing on another bite of his lunch. Under the table, Dick was desperately drumming his fingers on Bruce's knee so that he could keep the rest of his body still, something he'd used to do as a child enduring boring social functions. "You said you'd be willing to be his guardian, Richard? Are there any other takers?"

"None that I know of, except Bruce."

"I will, if the only other option is keeping him in the system," Tim volunteered.

Mitch eyed him. "You're seventeen. You don't seem like the parenting type."

"Regardless of my personal parenting abilities, I can hire good caretakers if necessary."

"He has an excellent track record for hiring at Wayne Enterprises," Bruce put in. "Very thoughtful, good at reading people. I trust him to find loving, responsible caretakers for these children, and I think it would be greatly preferable to leaving the boys' welfare up to a system that has failed them so far."

"These are the records I was able to get from the agency," JoAnn spoke up, sliding over a folder. "Peter and Jack didn't last more than a single night at their first placements. The person we spoke to at the agency stated that almost thirty potential foster homes rejected the children outright. Dick and Bruce told me right before this meeting that John's been transferred out of his first placement, and Peter's second one was abusive. Jack, on his own initiative, ran away from his foster home and made it to the Waynes' neighborhood, which I think is pretty telling. I strongly support guardianship of all three children being given back to the Waynes."

"If you're all so keen on getting custody of these kids," Mitch asked, "why did you give them up in the first place?"

Bruce successfully suppressed his frustration. "I had no reason to believe that this situation would be any different than my other successful guardianship cases, but John, Peter, and Jack are more traumatized than my older children were. I thought they would do better in a different kind of home, but from what I understand, their anxiety has only worsened. I had explicitly specified that they were to be placed together, but by the time I learned that my wishes were not being honored, I no longer had custody of them."

"Separating them is the worst thing they could have done," Dick couldn't help saying. "These kids have been through absolute hell together, they made up their own _language_ together, they don't trust anyone nearly as much as they trust each other, and then the first thing Gotham social services does is tear them apart and put them in different homes with strangers. At least with us, they were _together_." Bruce pressed his leg again, and he managed to choke down the rest of what he wanted to say.

"Would you like to meet Jack?" Tim said suddenly, his voice soft.

Mitch blinked at him curiously. "The kids are here?"

Bruce surreptitiously texted Duke and Damian.

"Jack is. The agency couldn't find another placement for him after he made his way back home, so we kept him. He was running errands with us when Bruce texted us about this meeting."

A few minutes later, Tim was ushering his siblings into the room. Jack, immediately picking up on the tense atmosphere, latched onto his older counterpart. Tim tried to pick him up, but Jack was clinging too hard to allow enough range of movement, so Tim knelt to his level instead.

Mitch approached, his expression softening. "Hey there, little fellow. So you're Jack, huh?"

Jack stared at him in despair, arms still tight around Tim's neck. Tim tightened his own hug and murmured soothingly. With their faces pressed together, the uncanny similarity between them was clear, despite the superficial differences.

"Amazing. Jack, do you want to stay with Mr. Timothy here?"

"...Ddonn't hhurr't mme."

"Ah." Mitch looked like his heart had been struck by a platonic arrow from Cupid's quiver. If Dick hadn't been on pins and needles, he would have laughed at his babiest brother's ability to charm the most stoic heart, even when he wasn't trying. "No one's going to hurt you, Jack. I can see that someone hurt you a lot in the past, but that's over and done with. I bet you're missing your brothers, hm? I think you're going to see them again very soon."

Mitch returned to the desk, signed Peter's papers, and slid them across to Bruce, who had to force himself to pick them up calmly rather than snatching them up in victorious relief. "There you go, Wayne. Congratulations on your sixth ward, God help you. I hope Jason turns up safe and sound soon."

"Thank you."

To be continued...

 **A/N: Okay, so I'm a few chapters ahead on this story, and I've finally written the scene that contains sexual abuse, and I'm trying to decide how to handle it.** I think I'll have to censor it on DevArt because I don't know how strictly they interpret their rules; I might censor it on FFN just out of spite because I hate that site (or leave it in, for the exact same reason); AO3's the one where I feel indecisive. Although I like to read and write fluff and family feels and cuteness, I have no qualms writing or reading darker stuff, but then I get squeamish when it comes time to post.

...I'm actually not sure what kind of readers most of you guys are, like which parts of TBWS you actually like (the cute kids and Dad Bruce? The angst? General Batfam interaction? The recovery progression? Interpretation of the aftermath of "Metal"?) and which parts you're only tolerating until it gets back to the good stuff, whatever "the good stuff" may be for you. X'''D Like, I'd feel bad if the majority of TBWS readers are here for family fluff or something, since the less-than-cute stuff might be ruining it for you. If that's the case, I might be more inclined to censor.


	67. Deleted sequence: Foster Care - Part 9

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Deleted sequence: General Foster Care - Part 9 (rough draft)**

The minute they were out of the courthouse, Dick whooped with joy and snatched up JoAnn in a bear hug. His siblings burst into delighted chatter, only stopping when Jack, dismayed by the sudden commotion and intense release of emotions, burst into tears. While his siblings comforted him and tried to explain, Bruce took out his phone to tell Alfred the good news, and was surprised to find four texts and missed calls from the butler. Frowning, he pressed the speed-dial button without bothering to check the contents.

 _"Master Bruce!"_

"Alfred, what happened?"

 _"Were you successful in securing custody of the young masters?"_ Alfred demanded.

"Yes, yes, Dick has charge of John again and Tim has Jack and I have guardianship of Peter on Jason's behalf," Bruce explained in a rush.

 _"Oh, thank the Lord."_

"We're going to pick up John and Peter right now. Can you make their favorites for dinner?"

 _"I will indeed, and I will inform Master Jason of the good news at once."_

Bruce stiffened in surprise. "You're able to contact Jason?!"

 _"Did you not receive my messages? Master Jason returned home about an hour ago. He is currently sleeping, but I don't think he will mind being awakened for this."_

"Jason's HOME?!" Everyone was now staring at him, shocked and eager.

 _"Yes, Master Bruce. As I understand, he had something of an adventure, but he has returned safely."_

"Let me talk to him!" During the wait, Bruce and his children got into the van where they had some privacy, and he turned on the phone's speaker mode.

A minute later, Jason's voice could be heard, sleepy and grumpy. _"Do you have any idea how long it took me to fall asleep? And now you all-"_

"JASON!" Dick yelled in delight, and then everyone was talking at once.

 _"SHUT UP!"_ Jason yelled when they failed to organize themselves after a full minute. There was scattered laughter, then finally a lull. _"Glad to figuratively see you, too, and all that crap. How's Jason 2.0?"_

"We will be retrieving him as soon as this call ends," Damian said.

 _"Retrieving him?"_

"You don't know? The kids have been in foster care," Duke said before Bruce could stop him. "It's been a fiasco-"

 _"The kids are in WHAT?!"_

"Not for long," Tim said soothingly. "We got Jack back last night, and we're headed right now to pick up John and Peter. I've got all the paperwork in my bag, we're bringing them home."

 _"BRUCE WAYNE,"_ Jason thundered. _"BRUCE_ _FUCKING_ _WAYNE."_

"It was a mistake," Bruce said gruffly, "and we are fixing it. We almost-"

 _"Where is he?"_ Jason demanded. _"Where is he_ _right now_ _? Where's my kid?"_

"We're going to pick him up right now, Jason. We'll certainly get there before you can, so just wait at the manor and-"

 _"WHERE IS MY FUCKING KID?"_

"We're _bringing_ him to you, Jason."

But now Dick was squinting at Bruce suspiciously. "Where _is_ Peter? I can't keep track of all their placements."

There was no way Bruce was going to tell Dick, of all people, where eight-year-old Peter had been sent when all other options had failed. "All of you, take Jack home in the van, you can stop to get John on the way. I've got my own car, so I'll go after Peter-"

"Bruce." Dick was deadly serious. "Where is Peter?"

Tim was already paging through the documents. "Gotham Juvenile Detention Center?!" he cried in dismay.

There were exclamations from the others and explosive swearing from Jason, but Dick's "OH, _HELL_ NO" drowned them all. Bruce barely had time to twitch, the precursor to an attempt to stop him, before Dick had slipped into the driver's seat and violently wrenched the key in the ignition.

"You're scaring Jack, you're scaring Jack," Tim said frantically, and with Duke's help, tumbled out of the vehicle with the terrified little boy. The teens stared at each other as the van peeled away, then Duke shook his head and Tim swore softly, and they started patiently coaxing the child into Bruce's abandoned car.

In the van, Damian, who was closest, struggled to shut the side door. Cassandra shifted closer so that she could heave at it as well, and it banged shut as Dick barreled toward the highway.

"Dick, calm down," Bruce ordered, scrambling to make sure everyone was buckled. "We're getting Peter out regardless of who-"

"SHUT YOUR FACE, OLD MAN."

Bruce stared at him. Then he looked back at Damian, who looked flabbergasted, and Cassandra, who just looked sad. Then he faced forward again and counted down the miles until they reached the detention center.

The place was in chaos, and it took a few minutes for Bruce to figure out why. It was because Jason had somehow gotten there before them, which was only possible if he had stolen some alien tech or magical artifact from the Batcave. He'd stormed through the facility so violently that Dick, Bruce, Cassandra, and Damian merely had to hurry through the exploded husks of doors, following the trail of destruction. They caught up just as Jason, in a nondescript mask and armored suit, hurled aside a couple of staff members and broke through a locked door.

"Jason!"

He completely ignored them, vanishing into the cell. Dick just stood there, staring after him. Bruce arrived at the threshold in time to catch a glimpse of his small, scarred son, white-faced and tiny as he huddled in a corner.

Only extreme or prolonged trauma could cow any version of Jason Todd even temporarily, and Bruce was absolutely furious to see that Peter's long green hair had been cut, leaving only a wildly uneven layer of ginger roots. Someone had forced the already traumatized boy still long enough to wield scissors on him, someone had thought that a haircut was worth terrorizing a child who had reason to fear sharp blades close to his head.

The sight lasted only a moment. Peter, looking stunned, was already reaching his arms up to Jason, who scooped him into an embrace. They clung to each other for a moment like two halves of a whole, and then Jason raised his gun and shot out the window. Peter, face buried in his counterpart's shoulder, barely flinched.

"Jason!" Bruce shouted one last time. Then both of his sons were gone, and it was a long, long time before he had the chance to see or speak to either of them again.

o.o.o.o.o

Bruce filed the kidnapping report numbly, knowing he had to even though both Jasons would never be found if the elder one didn't want them to be. Dick and Damian had already gone after John; only Cassandra remained behind. She now lay a comforting hand on Bruce's arm. "Family break, many times. Fix, many times. We love."

Bruce reached for her slowly, but at her willing warmth in his arms, he tightened the embrace until she was crushed to his body, and he hid his face against her. She was one of the few people he could bear to witness his tears.

"Sssshhh, ssssshhh," she half-sang, managing to get a hand free enough to stroke through his hair.

Across town at Oak Park Children's Home, Dick was furious and panicked. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S NOT HERE?!"

"Mr. Grayson, please! He was _supposed_ to be transferred here, but something unexpected came up and-"

"WHERE'S MY KID?! HE'S NOT AT VIEWRIDGE, HE'S NOT HERE, SO _WHERE IS HE_?!" Even Damian looked a little frightened at the rage on his face.

They called the children's social worker, but there was no answer, so Dick, along with a helpless-feeling Damian, drove to the agency headquarters and paced in front of Cole Sullivan's office for two hours until the man finally showed up, looking rumpled and weary.

"WHY ARE YOU NOT ANSWERING YOUR PHONE?"

Cole looked terrified. He'd thought Dick Grayson was supposed to be the nice one. "My...! It...!" Unable to formulate words, he fumbled out his phone, which was a wreck. The screen was black and covered with spiderweb cracks radiating from a shredded corner. "I had a bad day..."

"WHERE IS MY SON?"

The instant they got the name of the group home, Dick stormed back out to the van. Damian was the one who looked up the address. Dick drove, grim-faced and fuming, and it was Damian again who alerted the rest of the family and then started looking up reports and records. "Richard. This place. It's not one of Father's. Multiple instances of code violations, police calls, abuse claims, formal complaints-"

Dick stepped on the gas.

"Richard, we won't get there quickly if you're pulled over for speeding!"

Bruce arrived at the facility minutes after Dick. He jumped out and strode up to the building, where he found Damian giving the stubborn-looking director a tongue-lashing, and Dick frantically searching.

"Father! He says they don't have Grayson."

Bruce turned his full Bat Glare on the director.

"We _don't_ have anyone here named John," the man said defiantly, "and I'm calling the police to get you trespassers off my property. You're upsetting the children."

Bruce looked around. The floors were dirty, the walls damaged and badly in need of re-painting, the fixtures and appliances were decades old. The children themselves looked thin and haggard, with haunted expressions on every face that made Bruce's gut feel cold. Whatever hardships these children had endured in their pasts, they looked like they were still living in some sort of nightmare. Not a single one had happy, relaxed, or curious body language. "Thank you for calling the police, you've saved me the trouble." He doublechecked, then called the police for real when he confirmed that the threat had only been a bluff.

Whatever had caused the police to overlook the conditions of the home before, they weren't about to pull the same stunt with the Prince of Gotham looming thunderously over them. The poor state of the building and lack of adequate food and supplies were noted; the children were questioned; half-healed injuries were no longer ignored. Bruce helped his own children and the officers search the home, and was horrified to find that the bedroom doors locked from the outside, that one room had restraints built into the bed, and another foul-smelling room was empty except for copious dark stains smearing the floor and walls.

 _'Where is John...where is John...where is my son...?!'_

Then he came across the shed in the backyard. The one that he needed bolt-cutters to break into. The one with a scuffle trail in the dust that led to a corner, a corner that contained a leash tied to a metal ring in the wall, a leash that had been damaged halfway down by a grimy seven-inch hand saw lying on the floor, all near a breach in the wall where a wooden pane had been pried out of place...

"John!"

To be continued...

 **A/N: Ftr, Jason's return in the main story is going to be NOTHING like it was here.** In this scenario, he's acting as more of a plot device; in the main story, we'll hear why he was gone so long and get a better version of his re-introduction to the birds, etc.

Sorry for the short chapter, but I needed to end it there because there's a significant perspective shift.


	68. Deleted sequence: Foster Care - Part 10

**_*Read this chapter on AO3 if you want the full version._**

 _The Birds Who Smile_ , a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Deleted sequence: General Foster Care - Part 10 (rough draft)

 **A/N: Warning for child abuse.**

o.o.o

They were talking to him. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] didn't even try to listen. But then slowly, slowly, he started looking around the new place, and he started to be afraid. The children here were so frightened and hurting. The children in the last place had said many things with their bodies and voices, _"Curious derisive angry happy mischievous assertive shy,"_ many things, but here, they all said the same things. They said things that [ _chirp-chirp_ ]'s flock always sang in That Master's lair, _"Misery, fear, despair."_

They were pulling his head feathers, the big people. These weren't nice big people like in This Master's house or stupid, self-important big people like at the last place. They were more like That Master. Not confident like him, not as looming, not with evil eyes that looked straight into [ _chirp-chirp_ ]'s soul and saw the ways to hurt him most. He was a demon; they were like hungry rats.

It still hurt, though, when they pulled his feathers, and pushed him, and said things to him that he didn't understand but he could tell were meant to wound.

He tried to leave. He tried to go away outside so he could listen to the small, free birds and maybe find a way out, find a way to his flockmates, but the big people pulled him. He fought, and they held him down; he screamed and screeched and tried to hurt them so they'd let go, but their claws only tightened. They mocked him and smeared something wet on his face; he tasted their blood in his mouth. _"You tried to hurt us, but we are stronger than you,"_ it meant. He didn't care. He would die trying to hurt them, they were just rats, he would submit to Master but he refused to submit to rats.

They dragged him into a dark cage and tied him, and slammed the door and left him in the dark.

He lay there for a long, long time, choking with terror. This Master had tied him with 'seatbelts,' he hated it so much but now he wished wished wished it was a seatbelt. He wanted a seatbelt and his flockmates and the numbers counting down and Master's gentle voice and 'ice cream.' He wanted it because it wasn't _this_ , this tight tying of his whole body alone in the dark, he could hear the bats, Master had finally come back for him and tied him in the cave with the bats, [ _chirp-chirp_ ] HATED IT SO MUCH but he was so afraid because when Master finally, finally came back for him, the pain would be even worse...

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] realized he wasn't alone anymore. He'd Blinked again, not the good kind with Mama and Daddy or Zitka or [ _trill_ ], the scary kind where he didn't know how he'd gotten from one place to another, and [ _warble_ ] sometimes told him that it had been a long time and many things had happened, when [ _chirp-chirp_ ] felt like it had only been a moment and nothing had happened.

He was still in the cage, dark, tied, but he wasn't alone. [. . .].

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] stared. He couldn't move. He couldn't move at all to stop him, he tried but his arms and legs were still tied. He wasn't naked, but it didn't matter because his feathers had been pulled away enough that they couldn't protect him. _"Stop,"_ he begged. He remembered that big people didn't understand bird words. "Sssstto'pp!"

[. . .]

It wouldn't work this time, though. This man wasn't hurting [ _chirp-chirp_ ] because he liked seeing birds cry; this man didn't even think [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was alive. He thought [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was just a dead thing to be used, and he didn't want to listen when [ _chirp-chirp_ ] tried to tell him he was alive. He was too big and strong and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was tied, he couldn't stop it, so he had to escape instead. _'[trill],'_ he thought, and looked for the Spot.

She hovered in the air over him. _"Got caught again, dummy! Saving [warble]?"_

 _'No,'_ he thought. She could understand just his thoughts, because she was dead. _'No, he caught me when I Blinked, I couldn't stop him.'_

 _"Poor [chirp-chirp]. Need help?"_

 _'Yes yes yes.'_

She reached down to him, and he reached for her, not his real hands because they were tied, but he imagined hands reaching up to her, and she pulled and he drifted up out of his body, and he didn't feel anything anymore. He didn't have to look anymore. He didn't like for Mama or Daddy or Zitka to see him when things like this were happening to his body, but it was okay for [ _trill_ ]. _"We fly, [chirp-chirp], we find [caw] and [warble]."_

 _"Yes yes yes!"_ So they flew.

o.o.o.o.o

He wasn't tied anymore. He was sitting in a big, dirty room with sunlight struggling through the dirty windows and scared children fighting. His body shook, and he looked for the big people. There was one talking on a 'phone,' but she was far away and her body was relaxed, so [ _chirp-chirp_ ] slowly stopped shaking. He was _so hungry_.

He looked, and there was a boy sitting next to him, bigger than him, holding his arm. Carefully poking a sharp thing into his arm, making tiny dots of blood, dot dot dot dot dot dot in a pattern like a skull.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] watched, and after a long time, he realized that it hurt. This big boy was hurting him and making him bleed. "Ssstto'pp."

The boy looked at him. Eyes narrowed. Then he gripped [ _chirp-chirp_ ]'s mouth closed and held him tight while he leaned forward and made dot dot dots of blood on his cheek.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] fought and bit him; he screamed and hit, [ _chirp-chirp_ ] screamed back and clawed. Big people dragged him off the boy, and then he was terrified, they were going to tie him again, they were going to lock him in the dark and touch him and hurt him...!

He fought for his life. He screamed and went for their eyes, their joints, used every part of him that he had, not just his teeth and claws. The more blood, the better.

They couldn't get him onto the bed with the ties, so they dragged him into a different cage and four of them held him down while another one hit him over and over and over and over again with a strap.

He screamed, because it really hurt, but he was relieved too because they hadn't tied him alone in the dark and touched the secret parts of him. He kept screaming, and he cried, they were going to hit him until he died. He didn't mind dying, but he wished it didn't _hurt_ so much.

Then they tried to take him to the cage with the ties again. He hurt _so bad_ , but he made himself fight and bite anyway, because he hurt so bad now but it would hurt even more when they tied him and he couldn't move.

So they took him the other way, and it was outside in the sun, so he stopped fighting. They opened a new cage and dragged him inside, it was hot, they tied a collar around his neck. He didn't care; he'd been wondering for a very long time why This Master wouldn't put a collar on him, but now there was a collar and he didn't like it but it felt right on his neck. It _didn't_ feel right when they pushed a stick hard in his mouth. He choked and tried to scream. He couldn't get up because the stick was so hard in his mouth and it _hurt_ , it hurt when they pinched him so that it felt like they were burning off pieces of his skin, he clawed at the stick but he couldn't get it off. They were laughing at him, Laughing. He wasn't Laughing, though.

Finally they pulled the stick away from his mouth and kicked him. He didn't care about being kicked, he was so glad to have the stick out of his mouth. Tears were coming down his face, but he didn't know why because he was so _angry_ , not sad. He couldn't move so well, couldn't stop them from putting a leash on him, but it was okay; they were leaving now, _finally_ no one to hurt him anymore. [. . .]

He wiped all the tears and snot and blood off his face. He looked at the leash - it was tied to the wall, but it was made of something soft, _not metal_. They hadn't even tied him, except for the leash. Maybe they were stupid and thought a soft leash on his neck was enough to tie him.

His body hurt so bad, but he made it move, because he had to look for something sharp. He found it, a thing with metal teeth, and he made the teeth eat the leash. It took a long time, but he liked seeing the soft leash shred under the metal teeth, more and more and more, until it finally _broke_. He almost hurt himself with the metal teeth, but it hit the floor instead of his leg.

He stood up, the broken leash thumping gently against his body. He hurt, hurt so bad, he was so hungry, but he felt very awake and a little happy. He was going to get out of here.

He looked for all the places where the sunlight came in. There, between the wood pieces near the ground. He stuck his fingers into the light and pulled. It didn't want to move, so he went and found a metal stick and pushed it into the light, and pulled again. This time the wood had to move. He pulled and pulled, and pulled, stopping sometimes to shake out his hands when they hurt too bad. Then the wood finally came loose with a _thunk_ , and he fell, but that was okay. It hurt the places where they'd hit him, but it was okay because he could get up now and crawl into the sunlight.

He looked, careful, careful. He could see people moving around in the house, but there was no one outside. He dove into the long grass by the fence and he crawled, it itched and it hurt but he _kept crawling_ , until he was behind the next house. Then he could get up and run, careful, stay hidden, look for the shadows, the long growing things, don't let anyone see...!

o.o.o.o.o

He found a nest and ate the eggs in it, then he found a bush big enough to hide all of him, and he slept until it was night. Night was good, it was dark, he could walk now without anyone seeing him. He walked until the cars were fast and the buildings were high. He saw some children his size climbing on a smelly thing, they pulled food out of it. They chased him away when he reached for the food, but he found another smelly thing with no children, and he climbed to look inside.

There was a flat box, he knew there would be 'pizza' inside, and there was, so he ate it. Then he found a high building with metal stairs on the side of it, and he climbed and climbed until he reached the top. He was hurting so much by then, but he found a box to curl up under, a box that would hide him up here where he was close to the stars. He slept some more.

o.o.o.o.o

He slept a long, long time; sometimes it was light and sometimes it was dark. Grandpa still didn't come to his dreams for real, but sometimes he was in the dreams anyway, a dream-person instead of a real person. And [big _chirp-chirp_ ] and [ _caw_ ] and [ _warble_ ] and sometimes [ _trill_ ]; sometimes This Master, and sometimes That Master.

He woke up and he was so scared, then he was _so_ glad it was just a dream.

He didn't hurt much anymore, but he was so hungry. He hadn't been hungry for so long, but now he kept getting hungry _all the time_. He climbed down the metal stairs, and he looked in smelly things for food until his stomach was quiet again.

 _'When will Master come?'_ He would come for sure. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] didn't know when, but it would happen, because Master _always_ found him. He would not fight. Maybe if he was very, very good, Master would believe him that he hadn't run away; big people had taken him away when he didn't want to go. Maybe if he could make Master understand, Master wouldn't tie him and punish him.

 _'He will tie you and hurt you, anyway. He always does; if he doesn't hurt you for running, he will hurt you for something else.'_ It hurt too much to think about that, so [ _chirp-chirp_ ] stopped.

He wanted his flockmates. He wanted to curl up with [ _caw_ ] and [ _warble_ ], and with [ _trill_ ]; he wanted to nuzzle them and preen them and feel their warmth and hear their breathing, he wanted to touch them so he would know they were safe. But he couldn't, he was alone. [ _trill_ ] was dead and he knew [ _caw_ ] and [ _warble_ ] were dead now, too. [ _warble_ ] had said he would come, but he never came, he never came because Master had caught him and killed him before he could reach his flockmates.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] cried because all his precious little ones were dead, probably [big _chirp-chirp_ ] and all the nice big ones who'd loved him were dead, too; everyone was dead and he was alone, Master would catch him and he would be all alone again like in the beginning, and he wanted to die. There were no big people here to stop him now. He would die before Master could-

Someone hurting. Sounds of hitting, sounds of begging and crying. They were not the sounds of hurt little birds, but [ _chirp-chirp_ ] didn't want any big people to hurt like that, too, so he went to look behind the wall and he saw them. One on the ground, begging and trying to protect himself; three kicking and laughing like it was fun to make someone hurt.

They were like Master, and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] would never fight Master but other people _should not be like Master_. It was _wrong_ , he was so _angry_ , he ran to them and he BIT.

His teeth and claws were not sharp anymore, This Master had stolen them even though That Master had given them to him, but he still sank his teeth in and _yanked_ like he remembered. There wasn't as much blood, but he could still taste it in his mouth.

The bad people were screaming, they were hitting him and trying to slash at him with a shiny claw of their own, but he dodged and whirled and kept biting and clawing. He grabbed a piece of sharp metal from the ground and that was an even better claw. Then all of a sudden they ran away, and while he stood there feeling the blood on him, he realized he was Laughing. Laughing and Laughing, he couldn't stop, but he _wanted_ to Laugh this time.

The big person on the ground was scared, but he wasn't being hurt anymore. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] looked at him, and he tried to scramble away. _'He's scared of me.'_ That was okay. He'd gotten the bad people to stop hitting, that was what he wanted, so it was good.

To be continued...

A/N: I keep FORGETTING about Carrie, argh! Finally remembered to include her in this chapter, at least.


	69. Deleted sequence: Foster Care - Part 11

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Deleted sequence: General Foster Care - Part 11 (rough draft)**

A/N: Sorry for the short chapter again - these perspective shifts are awkward lengths.

o.o.o

He went up to the top of a high building to fly off it, but then he was surprised because there was already someone else there. A big person, sort of, bigger than him but not much. She was standing at the edge, looking down, and he knew she wanted to fly down there, too, and he was afraid. Not for himself, but for her. Other people shouldn't fly down, only him.

He went and held her hand. She stared at him. He didn't know what to say, with human words or with bird words. _"Come be safe,"_ he said with his body. He tugged, and she followed like she was asleep. She had marks on her arms like pictures, and little shiny things in her face. He touched the one on her nose, and her mouth, and chirped, _"Pretty."_

She started to cry, so he hugged her, and she hugged him back so tight it almost hurt, but that was okay. If she was hugging him, she wasn't flying down. He chirred and petted her.

Then a door burst open and a woman ran out, and the not-so-big person stood up and they shouted at each other, and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] covered his ears. But then they were both crying and hugging each other, and he knew they were okay now. The bigger one wouldn't let the smaller one fly down, so he went away.

It was dark between the buildings, and five big children were trying to take treasures away from two smaller children. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] LAUGHED as he ran to them, and the big ones ran.

The little ones were scared scared scared of him, so he stopped Laughing and Smiling. The girl who was bigger was covering the boy who was smaller, like [ _chirp-chirp_ ] did for his own little ones when they were alive. _"I protect him from you!"_ her body screamed at him.

 _"Safe gentle peace calm,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] crooned at her. He looked at them, and they were hungry and scared and confused. He went to look for food for them, and when he brought it back, they weren't there anymore, but they were close, hiding. The boy was falling asleep in the girl's arms. _"For you,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] offered.

The girl's nose wrinkled up, but the boy stared at the food in his hand. Then he grabbed it. The girl tried to tell him not to eat it, [ _chirp-chirp_ ] didn't know why. _"You, him, very hungry."_ The boy finally ate it anyway, and the girl made a not-happy sigh and ate a little, too, even though she didn't like it. _"Good,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] crooned.

He stayed and he guarded the little ones and found food for them and let them sleep, until big people came. Not bad big people, tired ones with blue feathers. The girl said _"No no no stay away (desperate please)!"_ but the boy cried and clung. The big people picked him up and coaxed the girl to them. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was hiding, he didn't want big people who weren't Master to have him anymore, but they would be gentle to the little ones. They had already given the boy water, and he was drinking, gulping. _'Not my little ones, not my flock,'_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] thought sadly, and went away.

He couldn't climb up and fly down, because there were SO MANY hurting people, big ones and little ones. When he wasn't sleeping or looking for food for his own stomach, he was finding hurting or scared people. There was one lying in a dark corner with blood on him and metal sticking out of his chest, and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] thought he was dead, but there was breath coming out of his mouth. Just a little bit, but that meant he wasn't dead yet.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] went and found a big person with those particular blue feathers, one whose body said _"concern"_ instead of _"gleeful hungry,"_ and he threw rocks at him until the man chased him. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] ran to the dark corner and ran past it, and when he looked back, the blue man had stopped to bend over the bleeding one and was saying _"Dismay worry urgent!"_ The bleeding one was safe now, so [ _chirp-chirp_ ] looked for the next one.

Night and day and night and day. He ate food out of the smelly things, or stole food when big people weren't guarding it. Sometimes he gave the food to children who were smaller than him and dirty and looked hungrier than he was. He slept in dark, high places. He told himself stories that he remembered were [ _caw_ ] and [ _warble_ ]'s favorites. He bit and clawed people who hurt other people. When people tried to hurt _him_ , he Laughed and Laughed, and they always got scared and ran away. "Joker," a lot of them would say. Maybe that meant "Laugh" in human words.

But then one night, when he Laughed, the bad people didn't run away. "That's him." They grabbed him, and they weren't trying to hurt him, even though they did hurt him by holding him so tight and tying him. They were trying to take him. They were taking him to give to someone, and he was so afraid.

 _"No! No!"_ he cried, and then remembered to say it in human words. "Nnnoo! Nnnoo!" They only hit him and put him in a 'car.' He was so scared and he couldn't escape, so he looked for the Spot.

 _"[chirp-chirp], when will you come be with us?"_ [ _warble_ ] asked. They were curled together in the air, their whole flock, and [big _chirp-chirp_ ] and Grandpa and Dance and Busy and Calm and Titus and everyone petting them and guarding them, and Mama and Daddy and Zitka and Becca and everyone waiting, waiting for [ _chirp-chirp_ ] because he was the last one.

 _"Soon, I think. I hope soon."_

 _"Miss you, [chirp-chirp],"_ [ _caw_ ] said.

 _"Miss you so much so much so much."_

 _"Hurt them when they kill you,"_ [ _trill_ ] said.

 _"I will."_

o.o.o.o.o

He wasn't in the car anymore. He opened his eyes and he was on the ground, not even tied, and there were big people all around him, talking, talking. There were shiny purple feet-coverings in front of him. He looked up the purple legs and to the white face-

He pressed his face to the ground again and covered his head and quivered. He didn't want to look. He didn't want to know who that person was or where he was, he just wanted to die and be with his flock.

Hands grabbed him, forced him up, fingers under his chin and squeezing his cheeks so he couldn't look away. He wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come.

White face, red lips, that SMILE. And the eyes. He knew those eyes. _"Hello, Master,"_ he tried to chirp, but it came out as a whimper.

Master was pleased. Master scrubbed rough fingers through his head-feathers and touched his neck and turned him this way and that to look at him, all the while talking words that [ _chirp-chirp_ ] didn't even want to try to hear. All he knew was that Master was happy to see him again, and maybe, maybe, _maybe_ he would not hurt him. Or maybe later, but not now.

o.o.o.o.o

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] sat in a cage. There was no top on it, but the bars were on all his sides. He could maybe try to get out, but he didn't want to. He knew better. If he climbed out, Master would tie him and hurt him.

Master hadn't hit him yet. Master hadn't tied him yet, he'd even taken the collar _off_.

Well, not Master; someone else, two other big people who didn't like [ _chirp-chirp_ ], but they were Master's flock and did what he told them. They took all the feathers off of [ _chirp-chirp_ ]'s body, but instead of leaving him bare and cold, they put new feathers on him, purple ones that looked like Master's. Master was so happy, in that way of his that was hungry and cruel at the same time. He'd patted [ _chirp-chirp_ ]'s head without hurting him, and now he kept calling him 'Junior' instead of 'Sweet Bird' or 'John.' A new name. New feathers.

A new game.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] was so tired. He didn't _want_ to play another game, he just wanted to die.

He sat in the cage and there were toys in here with him, but he didn't want to play with them. He sat there and thought of his dead flockmates, and he watched Master.

He had been wrong. He had been so, so wrong; [ _caw_ ] had been right. This Master was...not Master. This Master was Batman, but his eyes and his face and his hands and his body had always, always, always been kind. Even when he was angry, he hadn't hurt [ _chirp-chirp_ ] or his little ones. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] did not understand how Batman was not Master anymore, but that was what had happened. Master was two people now, and Batman...'Bruce'...was the good one, and this evil Smiling white purple man was the bad one. The real Master.

 _'Daddy,'_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] thought, and this time he meant Bruce. [ _warble_ ] had been right, too. _'I want Daddy.'_ He wanted to be held and sung to, he wanted gentle hands to put good food on his 'plate' and tuck warm feathers over him and tell him stories even if he didn't understand them. [ _caw_ ] and [ _warble_ ] always explained the stories to him later. _'Save me.'_

Stupid [ _chirp-chirp_ ]. No one would save him. Master always made sure no one ever could. Master never let him die, either, so this was forever.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] lay down on his back, arms open, chin lifted. _"Helpless. Vulnerable. Do whatever you want to me, because I can never, ever stop you or escape."_ He drifted away. He didn't feel like talking, so he let his flock silently preen him. _'I want to go home.'_ Drifting here with his dead loved ones was as close to home as he was ever going to get.

To be continued...

 **See AO3 for Medli's sketches of Jay & Peter and Tim & Jack.**


	70. Deleted: Foster Care - Part 12 (final)

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Deleted sequence: General Foster Care - Requested ending (rough draft)**

 _For Cdelphiki & SorrelStar_

A/N: OKAY, SO, since this is apparently what multiple people were expecting, here is the fanservice ending, as an apology for the actual ending. X'''D

o.o.o

Joker's men, well-accustomed to what the sound meant, were up and shooting even before the first pieces of shattered glass hit the floor. Batman might as well have been bulletproof for all the good it did them. He had all the ones with guns disarmed in seconds, with Nightwing venting his rage on the rest, Robin almost primly mopping up the few goons that remained, and Red Robin viciously subduing Joker with Orphan's help.

John stared, not quite processing what he was seeing. Flock. That big kind flock. So FURIOUS now but it was protection-fury, beating all the evil ones and _making them be good_... He was chirping without meaning to, little noises of relief and of the distress that he was finally allowing himself to feel.

"Johnny, Johnny, come here, baby, come here, precious bird..." [big _chirp-chirp_ ] scooping him out of the cage, cuddling and nuzzling him, it felt so, so good. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] didn't know why he was crying, because he was so _happy_ to be in his flockmate's warm, safe arms.

"This is ludicrous, he's not a baby!" Robin exclaimed in indignation, glaring at the toy-filled playpen his little brother had been kept in.

"At least he wasn't restrained," Red Robin said shortly, checking over the child's neck and wrists and feet, relieved to find no chafe marks except for mild ones where, presumably, a collar had been.

"Love you," Orphan practically purred, brushing her face against John's over Nightwing's shoulder. "Love you, love you, love you..."

 _"Love you so much, too,"_ he crooned back.

Batman, straining to listen to the reunion even as he busied himself with securing all the criminals for the GCPD, felt a bittersweet ache in his heart. John was safe. That was all that mattered.

"I'm taking him to the car," Nightwing said. "Can you drive?" he asked, looking at Red Robin.

"Of course."

"Go out the back way," Batman hissed, retreating when he realized they were heading in his direction. "Don't let him see me." The Dark Knight was last thing John needed to see after his ordeal.

"Oh, crap- Robin, back up," Nightwing said, trying not to step on Robin's boots as he hurriedly reversed.

John cried out.

"It's okay, it's okay, baby bird," Nightwing shushed, wanting to kick himself for not hustling the boy out of sight of Batman immediately. "We're going, we're going." He tried to adjust his grip on John, who was struggling a little.

"Nightwing-"

"Ddda'ddyy!" John screamed. Everyone froze. The boy was straining over Nightwing's shoulder, one hand braced against Dick and the other arm outstretched, reaching desperately for the all-but-invisible figure of Batman in the shadows. "Ddda'ddyy...Bbboosse...!"

"Crap, give him to B before any secret identities get compromised," Red Robin hissed.

In a daze, Nightwing set John on his feet, and to everyone's continued astonishment, the little boy ran straight to the Dark Knight. Batman sank to his knees without even thinking, hands rising in what was almost a warding gesture, but John pushed past them without hesitation and threw his arms around his father's neck.

Slowly, Batman's arms encircled the child, drawing his cape with them. Then, as John sobbed into the side of his neck and trembled, his embrace tightened. "Johnny..." One gloved hand came up to cradle the back of the boy's head, and he found himself rocking a little with his child in his arms. "Johnny...oh, son..."

Nightwing's arms gently came around them both, Orphan didn't hesitate to join in the hug, and Red Robin and Robin were left watching a few steps away, both feeling awkard and neither realizing they were smiling.

The hug finally broke at the sound of approaching police sirens. The vigilantes hurried to bundle their treasure into the Batmobile, John fell peacefully asleep on the drive home with the edge of Batman's cape grasped in his fist, and everyone lived happily ever after.

:)

 _ **The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Deleted sequence: General Foster Care - Part 12 (rough draft)**

A/N: They would have found John fairly quickly if this was for real, but it's not, so things don't have to completely match up.

The "played with him" references are almost literal, they're not euphemisms for abuse.

I am very unhappy with the quality of this chapter! (Until the "take off your jacket" part; I'm more satisfied with everything from there onward, since I imagination-drafted it a lot.) The Batman Who Laughs is disturbingly easy for me to write, but I don't know how to write Joker. Or Batman's Rogues in a typical villainous scenario, in general. DX

o.o.o

They couldn't find John. They searched for _days_ , as both the Waynes and the Bats, and they couldn't find him.

Then Red Robin stumbled across a rumor that the ghost of a child Joker had once murdered was roaming the streets at night, taking vengeance in blood from anyone it came across. They investigated the rumors and found nothing at first, but then...

Hints, here and there, in police reports. Matches Malone managed to get alternate versions of the rumor that _had_ to have a seed of truth in it. _A Joker child, wandering the streets._

But then the trail went cold. And while they were still running up against one dead end after another, no one daring to comment on the dangerous ways Dick and Bruce were going out of their minds with worry - there was a video.

 _"Good eeeeevening, Gotham!"_

"Shut your FUCKING face, Joker!" Nightwing shouted at the screen.

 _"I have wonderful news! Good old Joker is a_ _daddy_ _now!"_

The camera panned, and the Batcave echoed with Batman's single, despairing cry before he went still and deathly silent. His family could _feel_ his growing, enraged focus looming larger and larger.

Sitting in Joker's lap was a child, a boy, dressed in a purple suit like his captor's. John sat passively, unresisting, his mouth stretched in the obligatory smile and his eyes completely dead.

Nightwing was screaming, eyes fixed on the bruised face hollowed from hunger and the new scabs dotting his little bird's cheek. "...you'll PAY for every DROP of blood you took from my kid, EVERY bruise you left on him...!"

Red Robin shoved on a headset so he could keep listening clearly despite Nightwing's yelling. Batman would have done the same if he'd been able to move, but had to settle for reading his enemy's lips.

 _"...throw a little shower for my new bouncing baby boy! Listen up for the_ _suggested_ _gift list!"_

Red Robin listened intently to the demands. As soon as the video ended, Nightwing, with Robin and Orphan as backup, rushed out to check potential Joker hideouts, and Batman to coordinate with the GCPD. The Batcomputer became a flurry of activity as Red Robin and Signal worked to analyze the video and Alfred to offer tech support to the Bats in the field. Jack huddled on the floor by Tim, clutching Bear and calling softly for his flockmates, over and over, unnoticed by anyone.

o.o.o.o.o

Sometimes, [ _chirp-chirp_ ] sat at Master's feet and laid his head on Master's leg and let those ugly white hands stroke through his hair while Master thought or talked. Sometimes, Master played with him, and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] Smiled and Laughed, and Master Smiled and Laughed back and didn't hurt him. _'It's coming later,'_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] thought. _'It will hurt very much when he stops being gentle.'_

A few times, there were children, terrified crying ones. It hurt too much to love little ones and then watch them die, so [ _chirp-chirp_ ] did not want new ones. He looked away from the children and did not say any human words to them, and they soon went away again.

Sometimes Master forgot about him. As long as [ _chirp-chirp_ ] came when he called "Junior!", Master did not care if [ _chirp-chirp_ ] wandered. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] looked out the window at the small, free birds who weren't him; he looked at the sky and thought of all the dead people waiting for him to be dead, too. He stole things to eat and pretty things to look at, but as long as he didn't steal from Master, Master said he was good and punished the people [ _chirp-chirp_ ] stole from instead of [ _chirp-chirp_ ].

One time, [ _chirp-chirp_ ] saw a sharp thing. He picked it up and he was going to push the thing into his heart so he could fly up to his flockmates for real, but Master caught him. He wrapped [ _chirp-chirp_ ] in horrible tight white feathers so that [ _chirp-chirp_ ] couldn't move his arms, it was feathers that tied him. He didn't know the words, but he knew the sound of Master's voice and the look in his eyes, and he knew that Smiling Master would not allow him to die, just like This Master and That Master. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was not allowed to die, no matter how much he wanted it.

 _"Please,"_ he begged, _"I'll be good, I'll be good and alive, please untie me!"_

Master left him tied for a long, long time; [ _chirp-chirp_ ] could walk, but he didn't want to with his arms tied. He sat at Master's feet and was good and waited. At last, Master untied him. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] wanted to claw up the white feathers, but instead he climbed into Master's lap and tried to hug him, but his arms hurt too much. Master Laughed and shoved him away, and it hurt. His arms hurt, hurt, but they were _free_ and that was good, and after a while they stopped hurting, too. He went to hide until Master called for him again.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] was sitting with his head on Master's leg when he looked at the 'movie' Master was talking to, and he saw. A little boy, wearing purple. This movie was not a story movie, it was a real movie, that was a real boy. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] could tell. The real boy looked so, so scared, and Master sounded so, so happy that [ _chirp-chirp_ ] knew something terrible was going to happen to that little boy.

The terrible thing was that Master touched the red flower on his chest, and the little boy in the real-movie became fire. Just fire. Fire and _nothing_.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ]'s body shook. This was like when Master had made Becca's head bleed dead. He didn't know why but it was, it was, and Master was Laughing so [ _chirp-chirp_ ] had to Laugh, too, even though he was so afraid and sick.

Master petted and played with him a long time after that, and he Smiled as hard as he could so that Master wouldn't see how scared he was, how every touch made [ _chirp-chirp_ ] want to shrivel up and die.

o.o.o.o.o

They weren't fast enough or smart enough, and a child had died.

Every second that Batman was not concentrating on something or worrying about John, he was thinking of that poor boy. Three other children had been kidnapped as well; somewhere in this wretched city, three terrified children, in addition to John, were separated from their families and decked out in Joker's colors and explosives, waiting for their turn to be used in Joker's sick game.

 _'Weren't fast enough...weren't smart enough...'_

 _"Awww, I'm so_ _disappointed_ _! Not to worry, though! I'll give you another chance~"_ Joker's face leered at the camera, fingers toying with the hair of an impassive John.

So now here they were, Batman and Nightwing and Red Robin and Robin, as instructed, while the lower-profile Orphan was free to search for the missing children. They waited, and the urge to _do something_ when they were forced to stay put was unbearable.

o.o.o.o.o

...He was dead. Maybe. He died when he didn't notice and now he was...?

No, no, Master was still here, Master would not be here if [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was dead. Those people...Bruce and [big _chirp-chirp_ ] and Busy and Bossy...they would not be so protection-terrified if they were dead, they would only be happy to see their little bird at last.

One of Master's flockmates grabbed his head-feathers and jerked hard. It hurt, but [ _chirp-chirp_ ] couldn't fight. He looked up, at the sky, and almost floated up there, but he was surprised to hear [big _chirp-chirp_ ] screaming. He couldn't look because the man with the fake Master-face was pulling too tightly. Cold metal on his skin, near his eye. If Master-face touched it the right way, it would bang and [ _chirp-chirp_ ]'s face would burst red and he would drop and be dead. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] tried to be afraid, but he was too floaty.

He listened to Master taunt. _'He says, 'I will kill this bird if you don't do what I want.' He does not say it to me. He says it to...them...?'_ Bruce's flock. Bruce's flock who loved their little bird, their [ _chirp-chirp_ ]. They did not want the bang to come and make [ _chirp-chirp_ ] dead. _'They are not waiting for me in the sky, they are right here...if I am dead, I can't see them anymore...'_

Master came close, and the Master-face stopped pulling so hard, so [ _chirp-chirp_ ] could look away from the sky again. Another Master-face was holding a picture that moved, a real-movie, of a crying little girl dressed like Master and tied to the things that could turn her into fire. Master wrapped an arm around [ _chirp-chirp_ ]'s chest, like a hug but not nice. The metal by his eye was getting less cold.

[big _chirp-chirp_ ]...and Bruce...were hard to watch, their bodies were screaming so loud. _"NO NO NO NO NO NO NO...!"_

 _"DESPERATION FURY HORROR PROTECTION-TERROR...!"_

o.o.o.o.o

"Now, now, don't get your tights in a twist! I'm not going to _hurt_ my own son if you don't force me to, are you crazy?"

"HE'S NOT YOUR SON!"

"Really, it should be a simple choice. Save the girl, or watch her go 'boom' when you take my baby away from me?"

o.o.o.o.o

Master's fingers were on the red flower. If he pressed, that girl in the picture would become fire.

Now [ _chirp-chirp_ ] understood. Master would only give that flock one thing, he would give them a bird or he would give them a girl. If he gave them a bird, the girl would be fire, but if he gave her to them instead, he would keep [ _chirp-chirp_ ]. That flock wanted wanted WANTED both, but they could not have both, they could only have one.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] bit.

There was a bang, but [ _chirp-chirp_ ]'s face didn't spray red because he was biting the hand holding the bang-thing so hard. There was shouting and then fighting. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] tried to find the picture, tried to see if the girl was safe, but Master grabbed him and threw him to a Master-face and they _ran_. They got into a car and went _fast_.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] Laughed. Master Laughed, too.

o.o.o.o.o

They had been close. _So close_ , and Orphan had managed to rescue Mackenzie Deerhorn, but by the time the rest of them had fought their way past all the goons, Joker was long gone with his captive.

"NO!" Nightwing screamed, agonized and raging. "NO, NO, _NO_...!"

Red Robin was already tracking the car through cameras throughout the city, so Batman, needing to be in motion, grappled to the rooftops. He had been _so close_...that distant, almost confused look in John's eyes; it was a relief that the sight of Batman had not frightened him, but had he recognized his family at all? Did he know how determined they were to get him back, or did he think he'd been abandoned? _'I will kill him to make you safe.'_ He knew he could not allow himself to entertain such thoughts, but tonight, he did not have the strength to banish them.

o.o.o.o.o

Master was impatient and kept kicking him, so [ _chirp-chirp_ ] stopped trying to cling to him, but he still watched. There were Batman and crying children in the real-movies. Master was trying to decide what to do.

 _'I have to take that flower away.'_ If Master didn't have the red flower, then he couldn't turn the children into fire. But [ _chirp-chirp_ ] couldn't get close enough to take it, because Master kept shoving him away. And if [ _chirp-chirp_ ] did get the flower, he didn't know how to stop Master from taking it back and then punishing him.

Then Master decided. Master-faces - they weren't wearing the fake faces now, but they were the same people - took [ _chirp-chirp_ ] and tied things onto him. _'I will be fire next.'_ He was sad because now he wanted to be with Bruce's flock instead of dead, but if it was him instead of those crying children... It was okay. But how to stop Master from burning those children after he burned [ _chirp-chirp_ ]...?

o.o.o.o.o

The family was spread thin searching for Joker. Most of them, Batman included, found the victims rather than the mastermind, so it was only Nightwing and Robin who made it to the theater.

A crowd of screaming people was trapped, unable to get through the blocked exits and staring fearfully up at Joker on the balcony. At his side, John stood silently in his purple outfit. "Now, now, don't be like that! You're not going to be able to enjoy the show if you don't settle down!"

(Batman didn't say a word to the GCPD officers, just pushed the sobbing child into their arms and rushed to the Batmobile, blazing across the city toward the theater.)

"You're gonna wanna pay attention to this one, it's got an _explosive_ ending!" Joker was cackling as he turned to John. "Come on over here, Junior! Show 'em what you've got there under your jacket."

"..." John had comprehended 'come,' 'here,' and 'Junior.'

"I said TAKE OFF YOUR JACKET. You deaf? You got any brains in there?" Joker called, rapping on the child's head.

John abruptly yanked off his jacket. And kept going, stripping off his shorts, his shoes, his socks...

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" Joker exclaimed, surprised for a second before bursting into genuine laughter. "What a little exhibitionist!" He picked up the boy, who was now naked except for the bomb vest, and cradled him in his arms, ready to toss him over into the crowd below. "You ready for your big performance, Junior? It's real easy. All you have to do is jump, and daddy'll do the rest!"

(Nightwing and Robin, struggling to break into the room, didn't see it, but Red Robin could, watching the broadcast on a tablet as he waited for his program to break through the compromised security system. John's face. The pure Dick Grayson warmth on it, the gentle smile. It terrified him, because John _should not look like that_ when he didn't know that rescue was on the way.)

Joker blinked at the way John was gazing at him. "Wow. You really _are_ looking forward to this, you little creep." He threw back his head and laughed his heart out.

Master was not looking now. So, so easy for [ _chirp-chirp_ ] to reach and press the flower.

o.o.o.o.o

The tires screeched wildly as Batman fought for control of the vehicle. When it lurched to a stop, he stared out the window, breathing hard, at what had startled him: a flock of pure white birds winging their way into the night sky, having burst up in front of the car. Batman frowned in confusion - they had seemingly come out of nowhere, and were not a nocturnal breed.

Then he thought to look down, and his heart nearly stopped. Three of the birds had been struck by the car; amidst scattered, drifting white feathers, two were struggling frantically with broken wings or legs, crippled in the grime of the street. The largest bird lay still and silent, dead.

"John," Batman whispered. His body was shaking. He revved up the car and drove even faster than before. _'John! John! John...!'_

When he screeched to a stop in front of the theater, he was horrified to see smoke rising from it, broken glass, law enforcement and medical personnel everywhere, shaken survivors being questioned or treated. _'No...Johnny, Johnny, where's my son...?'_

There were many people crying, but one anguished voice tugged so hard on his heart that he actually paused before storming into the destruction. He looked up, and there on a ledge, a singed, white-faced Robin was holding Nightwing, who lay in his arms wailing in despair. Robin stared wordlessly down at his father, who refused to acknowledge why his son looked so helpless and lost, why his eldest was grieving wildly enough to be unmindful of his surroundings. "Johnny...!" Dick's cry was as thin and broken as a child's. "Johnny...!"

Batman could not bear to listen. He rushed into the theater, to the worst of the destruction where the bomb had gone off, stumbling over debris, eyes searching, searching...

"Batman."

Again and again, he pushed Jim away, looking for John. Joker wouldn't have killed him, not out of order; 'Joker Junior' had clearly been meant for the finale, three of the children were still alive, he wouldn't have killed John this early in the plan.

"Batman, stop. Stop."

So many children, so many frightened eyes, surely one of these small figures shivering under shock blankets was his...

"Batman, it's _over_. There's nothing you can do. It was recorded, Joker and the boy were at ground zero, there's no way-"

"Let go of me, Gordon!" Batman bellowed.

"They were the only casualties. That kid saved the lives of everyone in the theater, he was a hero."

Batman hit him.

o.o.o.o.o

One month later, Joker's death was old news, and Gotham had moved on. Wayne Manor had not.

Tim had taken his now legal son away from the oppressive place, the two of them living quietly together in Tim's newly-built headquarters. They were the only ones who had any contact whatsoever with Jason and Peter. Dick had vanished, as had Nightwing; only his tracker traveling slowly across Asia gave any indication that he was even alive. Duke still worked as the Signal, but was now living with his older cousin in town. Cassandra, much as she wanted to comfort what remained of her family, was unable to bear the severity of Bruce's grief, and had gone to stay with Stephanie for a while. Damian, after disappearing to Titans Tower for a week, had returned, but only as a comfort to Alfred, who was essentially grieving alone.

Bruce almost never left the Batcave. He barely ate or slept, spending his nights losing himself deep in Batman's darkness and his days grieving savagely for his son.

 _'They're wrong.'_ He had lost count of how many times he'd watched the video. Hundreds. Back when it had still been in the news, the consensus of the various commentators was that the child dressed as 'Junior' had activated the dentonation switch by accident. The movement of his hand had been almost gentle, as if he was merely shifting in his captor's hold.

 _'It wasn't an accident.'_ Bruce knew that for certain. The boy's eyes had moved to the flower-shaped device before he'd touched it; he had reached for it deliberately. He had probably even known what it would do - there had been no curiosity or fascination in his expression, only a resigned serenity.

That look on his face was what Bruce couldn't understand, what he couldn't stop seeking an answer for as if his reward for finding the solution would be to get his son back alive and well. _'Why did he smile?'_ It had been a genuine one. The boy had gazed at his captor for a moment with truly breathtaking love in his eyes. _'_ _Why_ _?!'_

If he'd known what the detonator would do, why would he look so uplifted? If he was so happy with Joker, why had he blown him up? And even if that did have an explanation that made sense, Bruce _knew_ that this unimaginably victimized child could never in a thousand years harbor genuine love for the person who'd crushed him. Forgiveness, perhaps, given enough time and soul-searching. Acceptance, understanding, possibly even compassion.

But _love_? John had looked at Joker as he would at a beloved parent.

 _'Maybe it was for me.'_ Bruce dismissed the thought, as he had every single time it came. John would never love him, either. Bruce Wayne was the alternate universe counterpart of the boy's abuser, there was no way John could ever possibly love him. _'Nightfall,'_ he suddenly realized, glancing at the clock. He was already in the Batsuit, so he simply stood up, pulled the cowl over his face as he strode to the car, and went to pour out his grief and rage into those who preyed on the vulnerable.

He staggered back into the cave a little past dawn, swallowed two cups of lukewarm coffee, and sat back down in front of the computer. He watched the video again. He typed for a while, then he switched screens and watched the video five more times.

 _'Maybe it was for me.'_ It WASN'T! _'The smile was not for you!'_ Bruce raged at himself. Even if John _had_ sent his last, wordless message while looking at his captor in order to avoid suspicion, that love was _not_ for Bruce Wayne. If anything, it had been for the rest of the family, for life in general, for the sheer satisfaction he felt when about to stop a monster for good.

Bruce watched the video again. Joker gleefully rambling away, calling John to him, the boy casting off everything but the vest that would kill him moments later. Joker lifting him up as if he had any right to touch that precious child with those _fucking_ filthy hands of his.

The smile.

The laughter.

John's small hand reaching, one fraction of a second of surprise and horror and outrage on Joker's face before the explosion took out the camera. A fraction of a second of John's loving smile shifting to a satisfied smirk.

That must be it, a sweet expression to mask the devious plan beneath.

But then why had he kept smiling even after Joker looked away to laugh?

 _'Because it wasn't for Joker, it was-'_ "Replay," Bruce ordered.

o.o.o.o.o

Six months after John's death. His grave, along with his bird-sister's beside it, was adorned with fresh flowers every day. By Alfred, not Bruce, since Bruce had spent the past three weeks in bed and was probably just going to stay there until his broken heart finished killing him.

o.o.o.o.o

It had been such a beautiful dream that Bruce wept when he opened his eyes and realized it wasn't real, deep sobs that racked his whole body. He curled up tightly and wailed, squeezing Elephant and Dog in his arms.

It was a long time before he stopped hearing the final words of the dream echoing in his memory: _"It was for you, Daddy."_

o.o.o

A/N: And so concludes the Bad Ending, at least for John. Jack's story (including a bit of Peter's) will be continued in the "Dad Tim" route.

Originally, John was going to successfully commit suicide at the abusive foster home, but then Joker was like, "Ooh! Ooh! No, I have a better idea!"


	71. Alternate ending: Dad Tim - Part 1

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Alternate ending: Dad Tim - Part 1 (rough draft)**

Red Robin was the first one back to the cave. He got off his bike, feeling like a robot.

Jack ran up to him, twittering anxiously about his brothers. "[ _chirp-chirp_ ]?! [ _caw_ ]?! [ _chirp-chirp_ ]?!"

"He's dead," Tim said in a flat robot voice. There was a long pause, then he realized he should probably be more tactful. "Jack. I'm sorry. I lied to you. Peter's far away with Jason, and none of us are ever going to see John again." Too bad robots didn't know how to be tactful.

 _"...Brothers dead?"_ Jack signed shakily.

"Yeah."

The boy went very quiet. Tim trudged over to sit in a chair by the computer. He had the idea to work on something, like...old case files, or...something...but he just sat there. Like a deactivated robot.

Jack climbed into his lap. Tim managed to rest one arm over him, but not the other. The child did not cry for his lost brother, just like Tim hadn't wept a single drop all night, because his little counterpart was a robot just like him.

"I wwan't [ _chirp-chirp_ ] [ _caw_ ]," Jack said sadly.

"You can't have them."

"Yess...ggoo'bye."

Tim slowly put his other arm around the boy and squeezed.

Duke, who had been sitting uncertainly at his usual station, cleared his throat and said in a voice that was still rough, "Alfred left when...when the video cut out."

"Yeah. It's against butler rules to grieve in front of the Family," Tim said in his robot voice.

"...God." After a moment, Duke leaned his elbows on the desk and rested his face in his hands. It was quiet in the cave for a long time, then Duke suddenly sobbed aloud. He hurried upstairs as if he thought he had some reason to hide his tears from Tim, the robot boy who couldn't cry for his exploded nine-year-old brother.

"...[ _chirp-chirp_ ]."

Tim said nothing.

Half a minute later, "[ _chirp-chirp_ ]."

About the fifth time Jack called hopelessly for his brother, Tim said in his robot voice, "Shut up."

"[ _chirp-chirp_ ]."

"He's not coming. He's dead."

"[ _chirp-chirp_ ]! [ _chirp-chirp_ ]! [ _chirp-chirp_ ]!"

Tim shoved the boy out of his lap and made it halfway up the stairs before the tiny fraction of his brain that was still human protested. No matter how he felt, he couldn't just leave a grieving six-year-old child alone in the Batcave. He descended again and took Jack's hand. "Come on. I'm taking you to bed."

"[ _chirp-chirp_ ]...[ _chirp-chirp_ ]..."

Tim half-dragged his little brother to his room, that huge empty room that had been meant for three birds and now had only one. He hoisted Jack onto the bed and flopped the covers over him. "Go to sleep."

Jack wouldn't stop clinging to him, and finally did burst into tears. Tim shed most of his Red Robin suit and lay down on the bed. He thought he wouldn't be able to sleep, but after holding Jack and watching scenarios play through his head for a while, every alternate route that the family should have taken to bring John home alive, his robot brain eventually shut down.

o.o.o.o.o

He woke up to chirping. Because Jack was pressed against the window, calling for his dead brothers.

Tim got out of bed and went to pee and then headed for the coffee machine in the kitchen. The room was filled with mounds of food, all exquisitely presented in a way Alfred usually only bothered with for formal meals or important guests; the butler himself had half the cookware and appliances displaced so he could scour every nook and cranny. Keeping busy. Too busy to think. Tim knew the feeling.

Neither of them exchanged a word or even a glance, though Alfred set a heaping plate on the table for Jack, who had been forlornly following his counterpart. Alfred did speak up grimly, once Tim had gotten his coffee and was about to leave again. "I am certain that you don't intend to leave this room without having breakfast, Master Timothy."

"I'm not hungry."

" _Sit down_ and eat," Alfred snapped.

Tim sat. He was too tired - not physically, or even mentally, but _tired_ all the same - to serve himself properly, so he just grabbed the closest dish, which happened to be filled with pancakes, and dragged it close to start mechanically chewing on the contents.

After about two minutes of silence, Jack, who was only picking at his food, started to cry softly. Tim could not bring himself to care. Alfred came over and rested a hand on the child's head and let Jack sob into his jacket.

"I'm finished eating," Tim said, and left with his coffee.

He didn't see Bruce or Dick all day. He didn't see much of anyone all day, since he was holed up in his room, making arrangements for the home he shouldn't have procrastinated on setting up. At one point, he realized that Jack was curled up at his feet, and he wondered how long the child had been there.

o.o.o.o.o

Almost everyone went on solo patrol that night. At one point, Nightwing and Robin had such an explosive fight that Red Robin simply switched off his comm, not even knowing or caring what the fight was about. When he came back to the cave, he found that Nightwing had left Gotham altogether. Only Robin was back, saying something awkwardly comforting to Jack.

Red Robin stared at the Batcomputer, where a stuffed elephant and dog were perched near Bruce's usual screen.

"I'm afraid to move them," Duke murmured.

It was as if the sight of those toys, now symbols of the children they had belonged to, finally, _finally_ unlocked something in Tim's heart. He stripped off his suit in a daze, and it was while he was trying to shower that the tears came at last. He tried to finish showering even as he cried, but ended up crouched on the tiled floor, covering his face and sobbing. "Johnny..."

At least Peter was safe, even if Jason would probably never let him within ten miles of the manor again. John, though...that innocent, suffering little boy they'd all tried their best to help, that child they'd all _failed_ to help, who'd died so selflessly and fearlessly...

Even when Tim tried to forcibly stop thinking about that terrible night, other memories came pouring in: John petting the cat so gently, John struggling to wield a spoon on his meal, John playing with his brothers in the warm sunlight, John watching the books that were read to him, John curled up with his siblings... _'I'm never going to see him again. He's never going to get better. He's never going to realize he's free. I'll never see him again, Jack will never stop missing him, we'll never get to teach him all the things he would have loved to learn, he's gone, he's gone...!'_

The water shut off and towels were draped over him before Cassandra crouched at his side and embraced him, crooning. They wept together for a long time, until Tim finally started shivering. "I'm...okay now," he sniffed, trying to wipe his face. "I...let me get dressed, and I'll...I..."

She stroked his cheek and then left. When he came trudging out, now wearing pajamas, he felt hollow and drained, but no longer heartless. Or, less like he had no heart at all and more like his heart had been scooped out of his chest. "Jack...Jackie...?"

The little boy ran to him, and Tim hugged him tightly. His little counterpart, his baby brother, his soon-to-be-son suddenly seemed precious, the last chance he had to do things right this time. A person with needs he could actually meet, or at least attempt to meet. He would not take Jack for granted like he had before, when they'd all just assumed the three rescued birds would be theirs forever.

"Hey, Jack," Tim whispered at last. "Let's go get ready for bed, okay?"

"[ _chirp-chirp_ ]...[ _caw_ ]..."

"I'm...I'm sorry, Jack. It's just you and me."

 _"Brothers dead."_

"Just...just one of them. Peter's still alive, he's just far away. I can...maybe I can call Jason, maybe leave a message, maybe I can get him to let you talk to-" He broke off. He'd promised Jack before that he would be reunited with his brothers, and that had never happened. Tim had broken his promise. He'd better not make anymore promises he might not be able to keep.

 _"Brothers dead."_

"I'm so sorry, Jack," Tim whispered.

The little boy was a bit smelly; apparently no one had thought to bathe him since That Night. Tim helped Jack into the shower, wishing he knew more of what he was doing, trying not to look at all those scars because he couldn't bear the sight of them, of how much pain his child had suffered. He found some pajamas that fit, and when Jack didn't want any of the books in his room, Tim read to him from a Philip K. Dick anthology until the child fell asleep.

Tim did some more work on his laptop and then eventually curled himself around the child to try to rest. He woke up later from a nightmare, which deeply upset Jack, and they both went down the hall to Dick's bed. It was empty, but they both still slept easier there.

o.o.o.o.o

Tim put Red Robin on hold for a few days, throwing himself into the work of rebuilding his civilian life. He pushed the workers hard to get his home ready, and made sure Jack's custody paperwork was finalized as soon as possible. He did his WE work remotely, not feeling up to facing not-sad people right now. He wasn't up to facing depressed and grieving people, either; every time he got a chance, he took Jack out of the manor so they could spend the day at the park or the library or wherever.

The idea was that Jack could play while Tim got work done, but sometime during the third day, Tim looked up and realized that Jack had never actually left his side. Was currently, in fact, curled up half on his lap, Bear tucked under the arm holding his phone as he used his other hand to slowly page through photos of his lost brothers.

"Oh my God." He'd barely even started, and he was already an awful parent. He couldn't just lose himself in work anymore, he had to make sure the tiny person he was now responsible for had his needs met first. "Ummmm...Jack, are you hungry?"

"[ _chirp-chirp_ ]. [ _caw_ ]."

"...I'm gonna buy you a- whatever that guy is selling, okay?"

"Ddead. Ggoo'bye."

Tim, not knowing what to say, stuffed his laptop into its case and walked over to the tiny mobile food stand slowly making its way around the park. "Hi. Could I have...?" Tim stared at the handwritten menu, then down at his little self/brother/son. "What kind of tacos do you want, Jack?"

The little boy just stared up at him with huge puppy eyes. Tim stared back, feeling a strange twinge his heart, realizing for the first time exactly why Jack had so many people wrapped around his little finger. Unfortunately, puppy eyes were not an answer to the question he'd asked. "Do you want...chicken, or...bean and cheese...?"

 _"...Sad,"_ Jack finally signed. Which wrung Tim's heart even more, but was also not an answer.

Tim gave up and bought six tacos of various kinds to split between the two of them. He ended up feeling full after only one, and Jack slowly picked his way through half a taco before abandoning the rest to play with Bear in quiet bird language.

Tim watched him for a minute, feeling at a loss. "Help," he whispered to no one in particular.

o.o.o.o.o

It was very subdued the day they moved out. Bruce had entirely vanished, and Tim didn't blame him. Everyone else who remained hugged Jack for a long time, whispered how much they loved him, and patted Tim's shoulder, but ultimately didn't say much. Damian, weirdly, just held onto Tim's hand for a long moment without looking at him or saying anything, before abruptly marching away.

Tim didn't have much to pack, since his home was already fully-equipped and most of the things he cared enough about to keep close were in digital form. Most of the room in his car was taken up by Jack's things, clothes and toys as well as various bags and boxes of stuff, mostly packed by Alfred, that scared Tim a little because he hadn't even realized that childrearing required things like that. What else would he forget or be ignorant of when it came to raising a six-year-old safely to adulthood?

 _'Oh my God. I'm going to be solely responsible for him for twelve more years, we're going to be together all the time, what am I going to do when he becomes a teenager, what do I-?'_ He cut off that train of thought before he could start panicking. Thinking about the future was too overwhelming; he had to just concentrate on making sure his child was safe and fed and healthy and settled into their new home.

To be continued...

A/N: It's been a while! My house has been keeping me busy; I dearly love living on my own, but it comes with responsibilities (housework! cooking!) I didn't have while living as a depressed hermit in my parents' house. X''D I've been making my way through more and more of the papers and crap that piled up over those years of depression, getting excited because, aside from a box of old personal papers to shred, I'm down to the dregs of the tangible stuff. (Next up is the mountain of digital backlog. X''D)

Anyway, although I still haven't made any progress drafting the main story, I did finally draw a blueprint of my headcanon of Wayne Manor (which means yet more stuff to fix, since it makes an actual difference knowing the specific layout of the house!), and also only have one more page of notes to type before I can start organizing. Still procrastinating just as much as ever on the prequel, gosh dang it. I really hate that story. *facepalm* Timmy and baby Timmy are much more fun to write (even if I did forget in the first draft that they'd both be freshly traumatized from John's death and Peter's departure), so here's Part 1 of the sequel to the Bad Ending!


	72. Unused scene: Dog Training

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Unused scene: Dog Training (rough draft)**

A/N: So, I don't know if I can work Sad Poop into the main story, and I didn't get to do anything with her in the foster care route, so this one-shot is basically just me giving Sad Poop the chance she ought to have had. I threw in Ace because this fic doesn't match anything else in the TBWSverse anyway, so why not. XD

o.o.o

Alfred stared at the message on his phone for a moment. Then he closed his eyes in fond exasperation before finishing his preparations for the day and heading out of his suite.

The first stop was the Batcave, where he let the cow out to graze and then went to look at the dog crate Bruce had informed him about. Inside, lying near the back with her chin resting on her front paws, was a small, dirty, pathetic-looking creature that smelled like her own waste. As soon as she realized she was being watched, she struggled to her feet and started barking frantically.

"Now, calm down. No one is going to hurt you, young miss." He withdrew, leaving the crate door open and a bit of food sitting invitingly on the floor nearby. He puttered around the cave, finding things to dust or tidy, until he noticed the animal cautiously venturing out, swallowing the food, then looking around, trembling.

Alfred continued his work, checking on the dog out of the corner of his eye. When she hesitantly started to explore, he readied a bath, then approached her with soft footsteps and more food in his palm. She squirmed unhappily when he picked her up, but didn't fight too hard. When he set her in the warm bath, she stood still, trembling.

A minute later, there was a bird-like cry of pleased surprise at the threshold of the bathroom, and Alfred had to be quick to prevent the dog from leaping out of the little tub.

" _Found_ them~!" Dick announced triumphantly. John and Jack peered curiously around him; Peter was already galloping into the bathroom, grabbily checking over his dog as he babbled to her in a mixture of bird language and broken English.

"Master Peter, your young miss needs to finish her bath."

"Here, Petey," Dick offered, crouching down beside him, "I'll hold her, and you pet her and distract her from the bath, okay?"

By the time the dog was lifted out of the tub, she looked a little traumatized but was now clean and snowy white, her fur soft and fluffy once she had been dried off. Peter refused to move and just sat there on the bathroom floor, holding her and petting her and chatting to her and sharing his breakfast with her from the plate Alfred had set down next to him at one point. At last, the little dog climbed to her feet and started licking Peter's neck and cheeks, no longer shivering. He giggled and stood up as well, calling to her with a bird sound as he galloped out of the bathroom. Alarmed, she raced to catch up.

Upstairs, the rest of the family gathered around to investigate the newest addition to the household. She shied away from all the stroking hands and jumped when Ace bumped her with his nose. She slunk to hide behind Peter, who screeched and waved his arms to fend everyone off.

"Okay, okay, we'll keep our distance," Duke acquiesced. "What are you going to name your dog, Peter?"

Peter cocked his head.

"What's her name?"

 _"Sad Poop."_

Everyone burst into laughter. "Did he say 'Sad Poop'...?!"

"Her _name_ , Peter," Dick chuckled. "What are you going to call her?"

 _"Sad Poop!"_ the boy repeated impatiently.

"I'm not calling her that," Bruce said at once, echoed by Alfred's "Heavens, no."

"It's an _entirely_ unsuitable name for an animal!" Damian insisted. Cassandra and the other two birds, uninterested in the conversation, were cooing at the dog, trying to convince her they weren't dangerous, while Duke caressed Ace so that the bigger dog wouldn't get jealous of all the attention being paid to the newcomer.

"We could just call her S.P.," Tim suggested.

"A dog should have a good name," Damian went on. "She shall be called Anastasia."

"Damian, you can't name other people's dogs," Tim said in annoyance.

Damian made a point to call the dog Anastasia for about a week, but eventually realized that it was a modification of the original name that had really stuck.

"Espy, sit." Bruce loved dogs, but he hated training them. He couldn't expect Peter to do most of it, though, and Alfred had been busier than usual this week, so here he was in the kitchen on a Saturday morning, trying to get two uncooperative animals to obey him. "Sit. Espy, _sit_."

She simply edged away a few steps as she stared up at him.

"If you don't sit, you do not get a treat. Ace, come here!" The dog, investigating the floor under a chair where one of the birds had dropped a bit of breakfast earlier, acted like he hadn't even heard. "Ace, _come_! I have food _here_ , Alfred already swept up the food you're smelling."

Still no response. Exasperated, Bruce stepped toward the entryway and called out, "Titus! Titus, come!"

A minute later, the sound of a jingling collar approached, and the Great Dane loped into the kitchen. "Good boy." Bruce slipped him a treat. "Come here, Titus. Over here." He pointed, and the dog ambled over to the spot. "Good. Okay." He checked to see if the other dogs were watching. Espy was from the corner she'd backed into; Ace still was not. "ACE!"

The dog flinched, then belatedly glanced over, ready at any moment to return to foraging.

"Titus, sit," Bruce said hurriedly, while he still had Ace's attention. Titus sat on the floor. "Good boy! _Good_ boy! Titus sat down when I asked, so Titus gets a treat. Good boy! Good sitting!"

Ace was now staring, his head raised and his ears perked in interest.

"Ace, your turn! Sit!"

The German Shepherd bounded over to him and hopped eagerly.

" _No_ , Ace, _sit_. Sit!"

The dog pranced, trying to get at the treat.

" _No_." Bruce had to push him away with his knee. "You don't get this until you sit." It wasn't until he lost his patience and bellowed, "NO, ACE, BAD DOG," that the German Shepherd finally froze, staring. Titus whined a little and hunched down, and Espy started letting out terrified little barks. "Oh, for God's sake- Espy. Ssshh, it's okay. I'm not angry," he crooned.

He took a deep breath. "Okay. Let's try this again. Titus, come. Heel." He made a circuit around the kitchen with Titus obediently pacing at his side. Espy hurriedly scrambled out of their way when they got close, but she and Ace were both staring intently. "Good," Bruce said when they'd circled back. "Good boy, Titus." He fed the dog a treat. "Now, Titus, sit." The dog sat, and was once more rewarded. Ace rushed forward and was rebuffed again. He stared at Bruce's knee in exasperation.

"Okay," Bruce said, forcing himself to be patient and speak very clearly. "Let's try this again. Ace, sit."

Ace stared at him like he was trying very hard to read Bruce's mind. It was Peter who hurried up and plopped onto his bottom on the floor, then stared up at Bruce expectantly.

Bruce stared back, nonplussed.

"Ggoo'd bboy!" Peter prompted, raising an arm to make a grabby hand for the treat he was clearly expecting.

"Peter- Peter, this is for the _dogs_."

"GGOOD BBOY! Ssi'tt!"

Bruce facepalmed. "For crying out loud..."

A few minutes later, Dick wandered into the kitchen, wondering why Peter had been gone for so long, then stopped and stared. He broke into a grin and pulled out his phone to start filming.

"Ace, sit." The German Shepherd waaaarily lowered, and the instant his butt touched the floor, Bruce hurriedly fed him a treat before he could immediately bounce back up again like he tended to keep doing. "Espy, sit." The dog didn't move, but Peter pushed her down into more or less the right position, and Bruce gave her a treat, hoping she would eventually get the idea. "Titus, sit," he said, just because it didn't seem fair to leave him out even though the Great Dane didn't need the lesson. "Good boy. Peter, sign 'president.'" The boy obeyed immediately, delighted at both getting to try out the new ASL vocabulary Bruce had been taking the opportunity to teach him, and at the grape he was given as a reward. "Good boy."

 _"Good boy,"_ Peter echoed with his hands.

"All right, again. Ace, sit...!"


	73. Alternate ending: Dad Richard - Part 1

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Deleted sequence: Dad Richard - Part 1 (rough draft)**

A/N: I forgot to add that the mask scars and I guess also the kids' status as legally existing people are not an issue in these deleted scenes, either.

o.o.o

Dick, wearing a domino mask with his civvies, stormed out of the Zeta-Tube and across the Watchtower. He ignored Simon, who was currently on duty and frowning at him in confusion. Dick marched straight to the lab, hurled his Nightwing suit into the destruction chamber for inanimate objects, sealed it, jammed a pair of protective goggles over his mask, and hit the middle-level incineration button.

Then he just stood there and watched the symbol of his vigilante life burn. He kept staring even after it was nothing but ash and the chamber beeped its completion signal. Simon finally came up beside him and asked, "What's all this about?"

Dick drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I love kids. But I wasn't planning on having any for a long, long time, because it's pretty much impossible to be a good dad when you're illegally fighting crime at night. I'm young and I'm selfish and I didn't choose them or plan them and I don't even..." He closed his eyes, which were stinging. "But I realized...I really would do anything for them. Even this. And it _hurts_ and I'm so _mad_ and I'm so friggin' sad, too, and, just...everything sucks right now."

Simon awkwardly patted his shoulder, then looked surprised when Dick leaned right against him. Simon cautiously hugged him.

"It'll be okay," Dick sniffled.

"Yeah." Simon patted him, slightly less awkwardly this time. "It'll be worth it."

Dick smiled a little, then pulled away. "Thanks, Simon. I'm okay now." His squared his shoulders, drew in another breath, and made sure he was smiling when he went back through the Zeta-Tube.

o.o.o.o.o

"Alfred, even the van isn't big enough to hold all _this_!"

"We shall see."

"My apartment _is_ already fully-equipped, you know. All we need is whatever of your own things you guys want to bring."

"Master Dick, keeping house for six people, three of them children, is quite a different matter than it is for a young bachelor."

"*sigh* You know best, Alfie..."

While the butler worked on re-arranging the luggage, Dick went back into the house to check on Bruce. The man was lurking in the Batcave so as not to distress the birds, but Dick knew that not even being able to say goodbye was probably killing him. "Hey," he said softly as he approached the Batcomputer. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine." Bruce wasn't wearing the Batsuit, but he was still clearly in Batman Mode, probably as a coping mechanism.

"I'll send you videos and pictures and stuff."

"Hnn."

"You'd _better_ not bug my apartment, or I won't."

"..."

"I'm gonna sweep for surveillance when we get there. If I find any cameras or anything afterward, I'll stop sending you pictures."

Bruce kept typing and didn't bother to answer.

"Bruce...it's okay to be sad, you know."

" _Goodbye_ , Dick," Bruce snapped in a prompting way, though he didn't resist when Dick stepped closer and hugged him. He did at least stop typing. Dick kept his arms around his stock-still, unresponsive father until it started to get awkward, then he stepped back. "It might not be forever. They'll get better as they get older, and you'll be able to see them again-"

Bruce stormed away. Dick bowed his head for a moment, then retreated back upstairs.

John was curled up in an armchair, gazing into the distance as usual, and Peter was playing with Cassandra, Damian, and Titus, but Jack was huddled on the floor by John's chair with his heavily bandaged thumb in his mouth. He hadn't torn through the protective material yet, but he would soon, judging by the drool-soaked, shredded white tendrils blooming outward. Dick crouched down to his level, tugged the digit out of Jack's mouth, and offered the chew fidget hanging from the boy's neck instead, which Jack readily started chomping on. "Hey, buddy. Is something wrong?"

 _"...Bad."_

"What's bad?"

Jack mumbled something around the chew fidget.

"I'm sorry, baby bird, I can't understand you. Can I maybe take this out for juuuuust a minute...?"

"Ssssome'ting bbad hha'ppen!" Jack practically shouted, then shoved the fidget back in his mouth.

"What bad happened?!"

Jack gave him an incredulous look. _"You."_

"Me? ...I'm making something bad happen?" Dick finally figured out.

Jack made an _"All this"_ gesture and then pushed the fidget deeper into his mouth.

"Are you worried because there's been a big commotion yesterday and this morning?"

Jack gazed at him solemnly.

"I told you this, Jackie," Dick said gently. "You and Peter and John are coming to live with me. We're going to leave this house, and you baby birds will live where I live, and Alfred and Cass are coming with us to help me take care of you. It's a lot smaller - I'm looking for a house to buy, but it'll still be a lot smaller than this one. Anyway, Bruce is staying here at the manor. He's staying here, baby bird, and we're leaving. I was hoping that would make you happy, that you won't be so scared if you don't have to live here anymore."

 _"...Safe brothers."_

"Yes. You're safe here, too, but maybe you'll actually _feel_ safe in Blüdhaven." He leaned to kiss the top of Jack's head.

When everything was ready, they said their goodbyes to everyone but Bruce. Damian clung to Alfred for a long time. "...Cassandra is going; why can't you stay?" he asked plaintively. "Your place is _here_ , Pennyworth, at Wayne Manor!"

"Undoubtedly, young master, yet my higher calling is serving the Wayne _family_. I have left the estate before to care for my masters elsewhere, and now I do so again."

"He came with us to the penthouse, Dami, remember?" Dick pointed out.

"Yes," Damian grumbled. "But that was...different."

"Because we were all together," Dick said sympathetically, hugging him. The boy did not return the hug, but Dick knew how much his younger brother still needed it. "I doubt it will be forever, kiddo. You'll have Alfred back someday, and in the meantime, I need you to take care of your dad for me, okay? He's going to need you now more than ever, you know how he gets when he loses kids."

"Father is not a child in need looking after," Damian grumbled, but seemed to have calmed a bit. "However, I will be at his side for moral support."

"Good." They switched, Dick turning to Duke and Damian gripping Cassandra's hand with dignity before she pulled him into a hug. "My man."

"Dick," Duke acknowledged, reciprocating the friendly handclasp and man-hug. "Got your work cut out for you."

"When have I ever not?" Dick laughed. "Oh well; I managed to coax Damian down from demon to cactus, I'd better be able to handle a trio of baby birds."

"You ever need anything, just give me a call."

"Oh, I'll be calling you whether I need anything or not," Dick laughed. "I'm not Bruce."

Goodbyes to the birds had to be cut short because it seemed to disturb the children, who anxiously kept signing things about death and going away and bad meat.

 _"Beloveds who stay, safe,"_ Cassandra tried to soothe them. _"We who go, safe."_

 _"Bad Laugh Man_ _here_ _!"_ Peter signed urgently. _"Kill you!"_

 _"Fall down bones,"_ Jack added tearfully.

"Baby birds," Dick said sternly, "we are going to Blüdhaven, and then we are going to call Dami and Duke and Tim, and we're going to see that they're perfectly safe and everything is _fine_."

The birds still clung to their brothers and had to be dragged away. Then they had to be coaxed into the seatbelts and given distractions, which took a long time, and then they were finally off.

At first, even with the distractions, Alfred had to pull to the side of the road every fifteen to twenty minutes so Dick and Cassandra could let the birds out of the car for a break, after which came more coaxing to get the children buckled up again. Anticipating this, they had left as soon as possible after morning rush hour and allotted the entire day for the trip, hoping to arrive at Dick's place before evening rush hour. Still, Dick found it a struggle to keep his patience, and started relying on Cass's calming influence more and more.

It was a huge relief when Peter dropped off to sleep, and Alfred had the idea to give Jack a phone with their route mapped on the screen in real time, which the boy seemed riveted by. It was hard to tell whether John was asleep or overwhelmed, since his eyes weren't completely closed, but in any case, Cass kept hold of his hand and Dick whispered encouragingly to him, and they were able to drive continuously once they were in Blüdhaven proper.

Dick, with Jack clinging to his shirt and eventually joined by a newly awakened Peter, got John out of his seatbelt at once and helped him up to the apartment, where he put on a movie and held the boy and made sure Elephant and some snacks were nearby. He and Cass took turns staying with the children and vidchatting with the family back at the manor, while the other helped Alfred bring up the luggage. The birds huddled together on the couch in a little pile of trauma, though it wasn't long before the younger two started peering around the apartment very curiously. Peter was the first one who started to explore.

"That's it!" Dick laughed when Peter made a confused bird noise after coming back out into the living room. "I've got crime-fighting stuff above and below, but the actual living part is only this." He planned to sleep in the living room so that Alfred could have one bedroom and Cass the other, with it being assumed that the birds would choose whom they would like to sleep with every night. "But I'm looking for a house that'll have four bedrooms and a nice yard, so we should be getting a bigger place soon."

Alfred, already tired from the drive, was looking a little frazzled as he unpacked and put things away, so Dick quietly ordered pizza before the old butler could feel obligated to cook. When the deliveryman arrived, Alfred looked miffed and insisted on eating a sandwich rather than the junk food, but he didn't complain much, and the younger household members dug into their meal readily. Maybe not so readily in John's case, but at least he was _eating_ , sloooowly picking up and sloooowly chewing the bite-sized bits of pizza that had been cut up for him.

"Peter, you don't have to keep asking," Dick explained again. "Look, all your pizza is right there, you can have it whenever you want." The birds were fully experienced in communicating in this context now for it to do much more good in that respect, and they weren't desperate enough to gobble too much at once anymore, so there didn't seem to be any point in continuing the morsel-by-morsel practice.

Yet, _"Please give me pizza;_ ppIT'zza pllease!" Peter kept insisting.

"Petey..."

After they ate, Alfred went to lie down for a nap, and Cassandra offered to stay with John, who was starting to look around in wary confusion but didn't seem inclined to move. Dick took the younger birds outside for a walk.

 _"Noisy!"_

"Yup. We're not at a secluded mansion in Bristol anymore; this is Blüdhaven."

"Bbutt'aybah."

Dick laughed and taught them how to pronounce it better, then figured he might as well take them to pick up some groceries. He knew that Alfred would find his apartment sorely lacking in food supplies, and the butler hadn't been able to fit much food in the car. "Okay, guys, let's see if we can guess what Grandpa will consider real food."

Peter was ABSOLUTELY DELIGHTED to walk into a building filled with shelves and shelves and _shelves_ of food. He kept grabbing as many random packages as he could to drop into the cart, until Dick fished a scrap of paper out of his pocket, started to scribble a list, remembered that the birds weren't great at reading yet, and drew pictures instead. "Petey, help me find the stuff on the list. What's that first one?"

"Fffissh."

"Ooohh, fish! Look up at the ceiling, do you see maybe what part of the store they sell fish in?"

Peter's eyes widened when he spotted a gigantic artificial fish hanging from the ceiling halfway across the store. "FFIIIIIIISSHH!" he shrieked in delight.

"Ssshh, Peter!" Dick gasped, laughing.

Peter seemed to enjoy hunting down specific food items, and it successfully distracted him from dumping the whole store into the shopping cart. Jack shuffled along behind Dick, clinging to his shirt and staring wide-eyed at all the people they passed. After a while, he started shyly calling out greetings. "Hhhello! Hhello!"

Some ignored him, others smiled and nodded before moving on; a few looked delighted and charmed. " _Hello_ , sweetie!" one woman cooed back. "Ohh, your son is _precious_!"

Dick didn't bother to correct her, since he _was_ functionally the children's parent now. "He's a little cutie and he knows it." _'Wish Timmy did, though...'_

Eventually, however, Jack stopped greeting people and got quiet, and Dick was so busy trying to keep Peter safely occupied that he didn't notice the smallest boy emotionally fading. They were in the checkout line, Dick praising Peter for helping him load the conveyor belt with their purchases, when Jack suddenly burst into tears. "Jackie?!"

 _"Too many people...!"_

"Oh no, Jackie- Just hang on for a little longer, okay? We're almost done, we just have to pay for all this and then we can go home."

Jack stared at him silently, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks.

"...Do you want to help me count the money?"

"...Wuh...ttwo...ffee..."

"It's-" Dick glanced at the number that had just popped up, "-$58.75. Can you help me count five thousand, eight hundred seventy-five cents?"

Jack slowly wiped at his cheeks and looked warily interested.

"C'mere, baby Timmy, help me count," Dick crooned, hoisting the child up onto his hip and handing him a stack of bills. "Can you find the fifty?"

It took a while and most of the people behind them in line got restless and irritated, but Jack eventually did successfully count out the full amount in change. "No kko'tta."

"Yeah, I'm out of quarters, so give her another 1, and she'll give us change, okay, baby bird?"

Jack looked so fascinated by the process of making change that he had apparently forgotten his tears, to Dick's relief. They made their way out of the store, Peter proudly carrying one bag and Dick carrying all the rest. "You kids are awesome. You're so smart and helpful and I love you."

"Ggo hhome," Jack quavered, clinging to Dick's shirttail and looking apprehensive rather than eager.

"Yeah. To my apartment," Dick suddenly clarified, wondering if Jack was upset because he didn't know what Dick meant by 'home.' "We're going back to my apartment where Alfred and Cass and Johnny are."

Jack relaxed. "Ggam'pa, Ccassie, [ _chirp-chirp_ ]."

Dick stopped dead when he realized he was only accompanied by one child. "Where's-?!" He whirled and found that Peter had dropped behind because he'd been preoccupied prying apart the packaging and digging peanut butter straight out of the can. "PETER, don't do th-!"

" _CROW_!" Peter shrieked, hurling the rest of the grocery bag at Dick. He shoved the open can of peanut butter right into his mouth and simultaneously backed to crouch in a niche by a shop door to protect his prize like it was Gollum's Precious.

"Uuuuuggghhhh, I am not ready to be a dad," Dick wailed.

He eventually did get both children and most of the groceries home successfully, at which point he collapsed on the couch and silently handed over parenting duties to the other adults.

As soon as they'd come in, John had leaped up and run to his little brothers, twittering wildly; Jack responded in a soothing tone, Peter ignored him in favor of licking at a spot of peanut butter that had smeared on his shirt collar. Alfred descended swiftly, a clean shirt already in hand. "None of that, Master Peter. Arms up, let's get you changed."

To be continued...

A/N: At some point, I will have to put this "Dad Richard" arc on pause until I finish the main story, because the kids' recovery is too similar and will probably have spoilers. There will be differences in the details, and obviously the kids will be raised by Dick rather than by Bruce in Gotham, and John will take YEARS to reach the breakthroughs that in the main story will only take...not sure yet how long, but definitely less than two months. Anyway, so I think there will be enough differences to make writing this arc worthwhile, but some parts will have to wait until I've written and posted their corresponding scenes in the main story.

I'm at my new house~ Not 100% settled in yet, but I have completed the move and am _incredibly_ relieved to have such a vastly improved living situation. Here's hoping that improved quality of life will also mean that I'll eventually get the chance to organize my writing properly so that I'm not only doing stress-relief stuff by the seat of my pants.


	74. Alternate ending: Dad Richard - Part 2

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Alternate ending: Dad Richard - Part 2 (rough draft)**

It was a weird evening. Cass disappeared into Nightwing's version of the Batcave, presumably for some training and then patrol; Dick felt odd and very restless, knowing that he couldn't go out with her. Maybe someday, but not after he'd just uprooted the children and there was no one but Alfred to look after them all night. Peter was cooperatively tired and fell asleep in Cass's bed soon after brushing his teeth, but Jack was clingy, and John was just as wide-awake and restless as Dick.

"Okay, forget bedtime, then. Who wants to play Twister?"

Jack eventually did fall asleep, but John refused to even lie down. When he wasn't watching over his brothers, he was crouched by the window, staring intently out into the night.

"Are you looking for something specific, Johnny, or just keeping watch in general?"

John ignored him.

Dick sat down beside the boy. "I wish we could stargaze, but the light pollution here is almost as bad as Gotham's. The moon is pretty, though, huh?"

 _"Batman."_

"Batman does not come to Blüdhaven, Johnny," Dick said gently. "He stays in Gotham. Blüdhaven belongs to Nightwing - that's me. You're safe here, baby bird."

 _"Birds fly away. Bad Laugh Man catch, hurt, again again again."_

"No. The Man Who Laughs is dead. The man who hurt you is dead. No one is going to hurt you, because me and Cass and Alfred are all here to keep you safe."

 _"Wait. Smile. Laugh. Hurt."_

"Please, Johnny."

 _"Wait. Hello, Batman."_

"No. Batman's not coming here, and if he does, I won't let him near you. I _promise_."

 _"Dead you, blood, bad meat, I hate it. Hello, Batman."_

Dick had to get up and walk away before he lost his temper. "Your turn, Alfred," he said brusquely as he passed, and dropped onto the couch in front of the TV.

John didn't fall asleep until nearly dawn, so when it was time for breakfast, he was left snuggled with Cass while Dick helped the other children up onto bar stools.

"I see I shall have to do some shopping," Alfred said as he set plates in front of his charges.

 _"Please give me eggs_ , e'ckg, pllease," Peter asked, despite the fact that there was already a heap of scrambled eggs waiting for him. Dick wearily reached over with a fork to poke the eggs around a bit, which Peter apparently took as permission to grab a handful to bring to his mouth.

"Young masters, we will be using utensils from today on, starting with your next meal," Alfred warned them.

"No yyoo'toul! Tote, pllease!" Jack shouted, sloppy and defiant, and was ignored. He pouted and grabbed the toast off his plate to chew on.

Alfred returned to his original topic, glancing in mostly-concealed distaste at the card table in the dining area that Dick had presumably been using as a kitchen table, except that it was currently piled with papers, a basket of clean but very haphazardly-folded laundry, dirty dishes and old beverage bottles, and other clutter (hence why they were currently eating at the bar counter). "We will need furniture as well as food."

"I just _got_ food!" Dick protested. "I even went to the fancy organic sections and stuff. And we're probably not gonna be here long enough to make furniture shopping worthwhile, anyway."

"While I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Master Dick, I need more ingredients to work with. You're probably right about the furniture though," he conceded.

"Jj _u_ ice, pllease."

"Peter, it's _right there_."

After breakfast, Jack wanted to count money, so while Peter watched a cartoon and Alfred cleaned, Dick laid out a bunch of bills and coins on the floor, and taught Jack the concept of making change. Jack was much more captivated by the activity than he was, and continued counting and shuffling cash even after Dick came to sprawl on the couch, playfully pretending to squash Peter. The boy shrieked and scrambled to crouch on top of him instead.

"Mmmm...no work, no patrol, I'm so _bored_ ; what do stay-at-home parents _do_ with their kids all day...?"

"You could get them enrolled in school," Alfred suggested.

John came stumbling out of the bedroom, twittering drunkenly. When he saw that nothing was amiss with his brothers, he started going around to pound and rattle the windows and doors, looking more alert and tense with every step.

"Johnny, what are you doing?" Dick asked, struggling out from under Peter and going after his young counterpart.

John kept hissing to himself in bird language and didn't answer.

"Johnny, that's the closet, there are no monsters in the closet."

John slammed it shut and moved on to the next window, which he rattled.

"It's _latched_ , Johnny, double-paned-"

And the next.

"John, nothing is going to happen!"

It wasn't until twenty minutes after John had assured himself that the apartment was secure that Dick was able to persuade him to eat breakfast, and even then, he only nibbled a few bites before going stubborn and distant again.

"My God...maybe you do need school, I bet hanging out with a bunch of not-traumatized kids would be good for you..."

Leaving the birds under Alfred's watchful eye, knowing that Cass could be awakened for emergency backup if necessary, Dick went alone to the public school he had in mind for his babies, one that was in a better part of town than where he currently lived (as Nightwing and even when he'd been Batman, he had liked to be closer to the action). There, he discovered that his kids couldn't be enrolled because the school was in a different district than the one they currently resided in. "I'm going to buy a house soon, though, and it'll probably be in this area of town. So they _will_ be in this school district soon."

"I'm sorry - the residential address has to match, but we _would_ be happy to have the kids transferred as soon as your new residence is finalized."

Dick thought of the kids settling into a new school, making friends, getting used to their teachers and schoolwork and the layout of the campus, then suddenly getting uprooted a few weeks later and having to start all over again. It wasn't like the circus, there wasn't a wider community or a tour circuit or much of the familiar that they could pick up and take with them. It would be more like doing a few shows with Haly's and then...having to stay behind in Gotham with strangers and learn a whole new kind of performance work...

"It's okay. Never mind." _'We're rich boys living off Daddy's credit card, after all; might as well go to a school where we'll fit in with all the other rich snobs.'_ Hah. As if his little birds could fit in anywhere. Just like Dick had 'fit in' at Gotham Academy before he'd begged to be transferred to public school, just like Jason and Damian and any other Bat-scarred boy could ever fit in with normal, happy, oblivious people-

 _'Stop it. This is not about you and your angsty post-Zucco childhood; this is about three kids who need school and will probably just bite anyone who tries to bully them.'_ Which was another can of worms right there. _'What if no one wants them? Snobby rich people aren't going to want their perfect purebred children to associate with banged-up, Joker-laughing kids who bite and eat with their hands and can barely talk and think they're birds, oh God, what am I going to do, is there some kind of special needs school who'd take them, or...?'_

It finally occurred to him, there on the sidewalk where he was angstily wandering away from the school, to call the person who was financing his parenthood, who would be raising the children himself if he'd had his way. "Bruce...I don't know what school to put them in. At least until I find a house. I was gonna enroll them, but they won't take the kids because we don't live in the right part of town yet. Maybe I should just go find a house now. Yeah, I think that's what I'm gonna do. Thanks, Bruce; bye."

Immediately after he hung up, Bruce called back. Dick looked at his phone and sighed, but it really hadn't been fair of him to call and then not let Bruce get a word in edgewise, so he answered.

 _"What schools have you looked at already?"_ Bruce asked immediately, perhaps fearing that he'd be talked over again if he wasted time with greetings.

"I dunno, the better public school won't take them yet because we're live in the wrong district, there's no way I'm sending them to Peabody Elementary even if we _were_ living in my apartment permanently, the rich kid schools won't want them, I don't know if a special needs school would be right for them, I don't even know what _kinds_ of special schools there are here, I know I pass Rainfell a few times on the other side of town but I don't even know what kind of kids they serve-"

 _"Dick. Stop."_

Dick stopped.

 _"Get a tutor for the boys while you look for a house. I'll hire one for you. ...If you want,"_ he added belatedly. _"Once you've bought the house, you can enroll them in the first school you had your eye on, and either keep or dismiss the tutor as you see fit."_

"Oh." Bruce made it sound so simple. "Okay. Thanks. And yeah, if you could...do the legwork...I just want final approval, but go ahead and interview tutors, if you're up for it." As if his control freak of a foster father _wouldn't_ be up for it.

 _"Yes, of course. I'll call you again in a day or two."_

Dick was feeling better by the time he got home again. He found the younger birds helping Alfred clean, and John still with that worrisome distant look on his face as he tossed scraps of paper in the air and watched them flutter down, over and over again. He went into his submissively unresponsive Doll Mode when Dick carefully put his arms around him and just held him for a long time. "I love you, Johnny," Dick finally murmured.

"..."

"You don't have to love me back. I just want you to feel safe and happy. That's all I want. That's all I want, baby Robin."

The child in his arms flinched, and Dick could have kicked himself. He'd meant it in the way his mother had used to mean it, but more recently, the name Robin had meant something very different to this boy who'd been forced into a tattered travesty of a costume and made to do unspeakable things while he bore the R on his chest.

Then John relaxed again and tipped his head back to meet Dick's eyes, his gaze _at last_ clearly focused on a human being for the first time in ages. "Mmmy lllli' Wwwo'bbin," he whispered. Such a broken little voice, raspy and struggling to form human sound, this voice that had once upon time so easily called out jokes and laughed with abandon...

Dick squeezed his eyes shut and nuzzled into John's hair. "Yeah, Johnny. That's what _Mom_ used to call us. That was our name _first_. That's our name, he's not allowed to steal it from us. I love you, Robin."

John birdsang quietly for a long time, and Dick didn't let him go until the boy went silent. He gave one last squeeze and then slowly pulled back and got to his feet, caressing John's hair as he did so. The boy rose, too, and trotted after him.

The others had been watching, the children openly, Alfred surreptitiously as he continued working. Peter smiled when Dick approached. "Ggoo'd bboy."

 _"Good protect family,"_ Jack added in sign.

"I love _all_ my baby birds. Are you guys being good and helping Alfred?"

"I sseep!" Peter announced, waving the little broom in his hand. Jack started to brandish his dustpan, then looked dismayed when half the collected waste fell out as a result.

"Oh no!" Dick laughed. "Here, let's sweep it up again."

When Cass woke up, the whole family went to look at houses. While Alfred hounded the realtor about all sorts of details Dick would have never even thought of, Dick preferred just watching his siblings cavort through each house and yard, getting a feel for how suited or unsuited their family was for each potential home. The one with too many random service nooks in half the rooms was out, he saw Peter curiously worming his way into one and had visions of one of the children getting stuck or hurt while playing. The one with an entirely open ground floor and floor-to-ceiling windows prompted Cass and the birds to dance in the sunlight. It looked beautiful, but then Dick thought of enemies crashing far too easily through those windows, and regretfully nixed that house as well.

Many houses, Alfred complained about; some, Cass looked around and wrinkled her nose in distaste. After the first few houses, the novelty wore off and, although no one had given more than a basic explanation to the birds, even they started to get more businesslike. John would march around the perimeter of each room, making grim commentary in bird language; Peter would explore and then tug at Dick's shirt to declare "Ggoo'd hh _ou_ sse" or "Bbad hh _ous_ sse" (Dick eventually figured out that the common factor in Peter's 'good' houses were lots of potential places to hide); Jack would move purposefully through rooms, holding up his hands as if visually estimating, making calculation-sounding bird noises.

When the group started flagging, they said goodbye to the realtor, went to a restaurant to recharge, and pored over all the photographs Dick had taken. "Okay," he said, using one of the coloring sheets the waitress had given the children to make a chart. He then handed the crayon to Jack. "So Alfred and Jack really liked the one on Queequeg, right?" He grabbed another crayon to scribble the street name at the head of the first column. "Jack, right here where I'm pointing, write an 'A' for Alfred and a 'JA' for Jack."

"A ffo' Ahhffed Ggam'pa," Jack muttered, carefully forming the letters.

"Aaaannnd, Cass, you really liked the place on Albatross, right...?"

By the time they'd finished eating, they had narrowed it down to three houses that combinations of the majority seemed to favor, though no one house had clicked with the family as a whole. "We'll keep these three in mind if we don't find anything better, but we can look at more houses tomorrow, okay?"

Afterward, they stopped by the apartment to drop off Alfred, who wanted to get more work done, then took the children to the playground. Dick almost wanted to cry with relief when John eventually got sucked into his younger siblings' games and ran about jumping and chasing and crowing with them. _That_ was how any version of him ought to be, not a silent, dead-eyed zombie so overcome with hopelessness that he wasn't even fully present when surrounded by people who loved him. _'Please stay this way, Johnnybird. Please, please don't fall into the dark again.'_

To be continued...

A/N: Man. I didn't realize until working on this story how much I apparently like compound words. I keep looking them up to see if they're actually supposed to be a compound word or two separate words, and eight times out of ten, it turns out that the compound version is less common than not. X''D

Still loving life at my house, though I haven't made much progress on anything this week because of work. Hopefully I'll get more done on the weekend.


	75. Chapter 55

_The Birds Who Smile_ , a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Part 55 (rough draft)

 **A/N: *throws up hands in frustration* Y'all know this is a rough draft, right? Yes? Yes.**

o.o.o

Once Batman was on the streets, he sent Spoiler and Signal home, since they would need their rest in order to look after the children the next day. In the morning, as soon as the younger birds had awakened (John had not slept all night), Cass handed over all three to Stephanie and went to bed.

"Good morning, babies~!" Stephanie sang, bringing serving dishes from the counter where Alfred had prepared them over to the kitchen table. "What do you guys want to eat? Do you want pancakes, or cereal, or-?"

 _"Batman,"_ John asked, as his brothers signed for their food choices.

"You want to eat Batman?" Stephanie laughed, starting to serve the younger two.

"Bbboosse. _Give me."_

"You want...to see Bruce?" Well, that had to be progress, right? "He's sleeping, baby bird, but you can see him this afternoon, okay?"

 _"Give me Batman."_

"Later, Johnny. Not right now."

John got up out of his seat and marched away.

"Uhhhh...!" Stephanie threw a look at Alfred, who nodded to show that he'd keep an eye on the younger boys. Stephanie rushed into the hall after John. "Hey, Johnnybird, we can see Bruce later, okay? Right now, it's time for breakfast."

He shook her off and kept going.

"Johnny, seriously, I'm not playing. I know how it feels to have to get up early after you've had a long night of vigilanteing, it _sucks_! Let's not do that to Daddy, okay?"

He snapped his teeth at her. She gasped, just barely managing to snatch her arm out of the way. " _John_! What the heck, Johnny, don't bite me! Super not nice."

The boy soon reached the master bedroom and started struggling with the door handle. Stephanie's attempts to stop him resulted in nothing but him trying to hit and bite her.

"Johnny, don't be a brat. You're supposed to be Dick's clone, not Damian's." She called Duke's phone. "Heeeeyyy, buddy, so calling you in early, since you're kind of all I've got for cavalry here..."

Duke, shirtless, came yawning out of his room, but nothing he said or did was any more successful than Stephanie's efforts. John managed to unlatch the door, and he slipped inside immediately.

"John, get _back_ here!" Stephanie hissed.

Bruce woke up to find two teenagers and an angry nine-year-old struggling on his bed, nearly on top of him. John's fists were clenched around various sharp office supplies he'd apparently snagged from the desk; Stephanie and Duke were struggling to both pry them out of his grip and keep him from reaching his target.

"What is going _on_ here?" Bruce asked sharply.

"Really angry bird! Johnny, _stop_!"

" _crow_! _crow_! _crow_!"

With Bruce's added efforts, they managed to get the boy disarmed, and Bruce started to drag him out of the room with his arms crossed harmlessly over his chest. John struggled and screamed, doing his best to bite.

Bruce was already bleeding, since he hadn't had a chance to put on the armored layer he'd long ago taken to wearing around the birds. "John, _do not bite_ , I _told_ you what would happen if you kept biting people." He hesitated in the hall, not sure where to take John. "Where are the others?"

"Kitchen," Stephanie said nervously. "They're fine, Alfred's watching them."

"Has John eaten?"

"No."

Bruce looked back down at the child he was restraining, who had not ceased his determined efforts to get free and cause damage. "John, if you calm down, I will let you go. If you do not calm down, I'm going to hold you until you do."

More crowing, with no sign that he'd heard. Bruce soon gestured with his head for the teens to go; they both headed downstairs. Bruce settled for a long wait.

It was a very, very long wait. Cass stumbled blearily out of her room at one point, but Bruce ordered her to go back to bed. _"He wants to kill you,"_ she said in distress.

"Go. I'll handle it." Recognizing there was nothing she could do, she obeyed.

Twenty minutes later, Tim came lurching into the hall. "What the hell is _happening_ out here?"

"Power struggle," Bruce ground out. "Go back to bed."

"Bruce always wins," Tim said grouchily to John, then slammed his door. A couple of minutes later, the muffled sound of music started up inside.

John struggled, even after he'd stopped screaming, for nearly an entire hour. Bruce was exhausted by then and was only continuing to hold on through sheer force of will. When John went still at last, Bruce hopefully started to release the hold, but then the boy lashed out again. So it was back to the restraining hold and the struggling for another ten minutes, then John paused. Very slowly and deliberately, he relaxed.

Bruce was more cautious letting go this time. John remained still for three seconds after he'd been released. Then he whirled and struck at Bruce's neck, and it was sheer instinct that had Bruce throwing up a forearm to shield himself. Sharp teeth sank into his flesh, and Bruce swallowed curses of pain. "Let go, John," he ordered as blood ran down his arm. "Let _go_." He saw the muscles in the boy's neck tense and managed to clamp his other hand to the back of the child's head just in time. The puncture wounds were bad enough; only his hand forcing John's face close against his skin prevented the boy from ripping out half the flesh of his forearm. John snarled through his mouthful of meat and blood.

"Dammit, John, let GO!" It fucking _hurt_. It was like getting bitten by Killer Croc, except worse, because he could fight back against a Rogue, but he couldn't exactly punch his foster child. "DAMMIT!"

The commotion was drawing almost everyone back into the hall.

"Oh my God!" Stephanie cried, running to help.

"Tranquilizer!" Bruce ordered. It was Alfred who eventually located and administered one strong enough to send John groggily to his knees. He kept his jaws clamped on Bruce's arm until he had completely lost consciousness, and only then were they able to free Bruce from his attacker at last. He wasn't the only one swearing when the injury became fully visible.

John was laid on his bed with an exhausted Cassandra standing guard; Bruce's injury was treated. Duke, who was looking after the younger children by now, reported that they seemed on edge and unhappy, but not overly upset or even worried about their bird brother.

"What triggered it?" Bruce demanded.

"I don't know!" Stephanie cried. "He started asking for you as soon as he saw me, like he'd been _waiting_."

Bruce rubbed a hand over his face, his mind going in circles. _'He can't stay here. He can't- Who do I-? What do I...?'_ One thing was clear - the fangs had to go. "Where's my phone?"

Eventually, among the various arrangements he made were to have the children moved to Bruce's brownstone in town. Alfred and Cassandra were to accompany them, but more caretakers were needed, especially for John. Damian and Duke looked so unhappy about the prospect that Bruce made it clear he didn't expect them to make the commitment, and he knew without asking that Tim would feel the same. Although Stephanie agreed to serve for maybe a week or two more and drop in after that for occasional visits and babysitting, she understandably did not want to parent the birds full-time.

A reluctant call to the Justice League netted Bruce a rotation of caretakers - although none of the League members would be able to look after the birds long-term, most of them were willing to spend at least one day a week helping Alfred and Cass with the children until John's condition had improved. Some of them also mentioned recruiting their protégés for the same purpose, though Bruce cautioned them to be careful about it - he didn't want word getting back to Dick and causing more stress for his eldest son.

 _"But you know, Bruce, there's only so much we can do,"_ Clark pointed out. _"John...needs a lot of help that none of us are equipped to give. He's been getting worse over time, not better."_

"I'm working on it," Bruce said shortly. "In the meantime...I've been talking to J'onzz." The Martian had been brought up as a candidate for the League during the aftermath of Barbatos's attack on the multiverse, and Bruce would have finalized his vote by now if he hadn't been so damn _busy_ with the children. He hated telepathy and was not at all comfortable with a mind-reader in his house or his cave or any of his children's heads, but he was desperate. "He said he'll come tomorrow."

 _"All right. I just...I'm worried, Bruce."_

"And you think I'm not?" Bruce snapped.

 _"Johnny's not the only one I'm worried about."_

Bruce hung up. He knew he shouldn't have, but all the important information had been exchanged and he couldn't stand hearing his best friend accuse him of failure anymore.

When all the phone calls were done, Bruce tried to go back to sleep, but John's tranquilizers soon wore off. Bruce knew they did, because he could hear the boy screaming in the hallway.

The others tried everything they could think of to distract John and get him occupied with _anything_ that wasn't trying to kill Bruce, but nothing worked. When they wouldn't let him near Bruce's room, he shrieked and lashed out, sometimes at people, other times at the house. Everyone soon donned armor and took turns trying to keep John contained, watching over the other children, and starting the daunting task of securing Wayne Manor from John's tantrums.

Doors were locked; breakable items were put away; then, when he demonstrated that he could use anything and everything either as a weapon or just to trash for the sake of destruction, _everything_ that wasn't immediately needed was put away. More child locks were added, not just to the standard cabinets containing hazardous substances. Padding was put over the walls.

Through it all, Peter and Jack played quietly and unhappily, like they'd been resigned to weathering a natural disaster. When Damian, at one point, demanded that they get their brother under control, and Stephanie, at another point, begged the same thing with literal tears in her eyes, they had the same response: _"[chirp-chirp] dead."_

"He's NOT DEAD, why would you say that?!"

Bruce finally came storming in. John, whose eyes had practically glazed over as he continued to struggle like some kind of zombie warrior, flew at him with refreshed fire. Bruce caught him and dragged him down to the cave, hoping that a sparring session of sorts would expend the rest of his energy. He would not strike the child, but he would defend himself as he allowed John to attack until he was satisfied.

He was wrong; the child continued to fight like he was possessed, ceaselessly charging at the armored figure with sharp teeth and claw-like fingers. Bruce wasn't able to actively teach any moves, so he tried to teach by example instead, telegraphing his moves as well as he could. John even picked up on a few of them, but most of his attacks were still thoughtless and animal-like.

It went on and on. Bruce had to pin John down just to give himself a water break. He tried dribbling a bit of water into the boy's mouth as well - John swallowed once, but the next mouthful of water was viciously spat at Bruce. Bruce sighed, set down the bottle, let the boy up, and was instantly defending himself once again. He was as exhausted and bruised as if he'd been sparring with the older Dick Grayson.

John's body gave out before his inflamed spirit did. He lay on the battered practice mats, snarling in frustration, twitching as he tried to attack but couldn't make his limbs obey. Since he'd already been drugged once that day and would need to be again that night, Bruce didn't want to tranq him yet again, but John wasn't making it easy. He snapped his teeth every time Bruce reached for him, even to give him water or food. Bruce finally scrounged up some dental-grade wax and forced it onto John's fangs, creating a shield of sorts. John gnashed his teeth at him furiously, but even his successful nips now bounced off harmlessly as Bruce picked him up and carried him back upstairs.

Bruce got a break, but the madness continued. After John lay catatonic on the carpet for about forty-five minutes, his eyes half-open, he dragged himself upright. His bird brothers, who'd been playing nearby, glanced at him, but he ignored them, and they soon looked away. John accepted food at last, though he flung it down and chewed it off the floor rather than a plate; when they tried to correct him, he jerked away from the food entirely. "BBBATT'MMAAANNN!" Then he was off in search of Bruce again, his voice hoarse and ragged from screaming.

It was like that for the entire day and evening. John ripped at his own clothes so much that they taped mittens over his hands, and took the opportunity to re-apply the wax that he'd yanked off earlier. Now disarmed of both his teeth and his fingernails, he had to get more creative about causing destruction. When he wasn't shrieking for Bruce or trying to knock things over or hit people, he'd catch bits of his clothes on anything that protruded, like a cabinet knob or doorknob, and jerk so that the clothes ripped; they finally covered his latest outfit with thick plastic. Since he'd consumed so little food and water lately, he wasn't eliminating much, but when he did, he never went to the bathroom or even indicated that he had to go, so there was that to deal with, too.

By the time night fell, John looked like a wild animal, Damian was packing to leave, Tim was apartment shopping online, Stephanie and Duke had already escaped to patrol, Cassandra was in tears, and Alfred was drinking brandy straight from the bottle rather than bothering to mix it with his tea. Bruce just felt completely numb.

TBC

A/N: According to the Wikis I looked at, Bruce's brownstone was destroyed at some point during the Zero Year storyline, but I know he lived in one, I guess a different one, during the Arkham Manor arc.

I originally wasn't going to use Martian Manhunter because a telepathic approach didn't feel right for this story, but I eventually changed my mind. **If I edit this fic, J'onn will be mentioned in the alien invasion chapter** , though he won't have gone back to the cave with the rest of the League.

I said I would probably post this chapter on Wednesday, but I did not, because I was too busy the past few days trying not to fail at life (adulting is hard! X'''D), and also working on the totally random plot bunny my muse violently woke me up with at five in the morning the other day instead of all the fics, including TBWS, that I _should_ be working on. X''''D I'm probably not going to finish that Halloween fic in time, for the second year in a row.

Today is supposed to be my Writing Day, when I was going to work on the next TBWS chapter in earnest, but then at 4:45 a.m., the cramps that were supposed to torment me on Day 2 of my period decided to attack me on Day 4 instead, when I thought I was in the clear and wasn't prepared for them. So now I feel like crap and therefore not particularly like sticking to my usual schedule and rules. So I'm posting, even though I've only written four paragraphs of the next chapter. _R. girl is not small but she still makes mistaks._


	76. Chapter 56

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 56 (rough draft)**

That evening, Bruce drugged John with something that would numb any pain and keep him asleep for most of the night. He and Alfred cleaned the boy up and applied durable makeup to hide the mask scars. Bruce then set out in a civilian car toward Gotham.

He had been planning this for a while, and was now putting it into motion. Two dentists had been paid to spend an entire night on John after signing nondisclosure agreements (ideally, they'd have nothing of substance to report on or gossip about, but it was better to be prepared).

To Bruce's relief, there seemed to be no complications. One of the dentists was a little chatty, but after too many awkward pauses, she gave up. They had been made wary of asking questions to begin with, and the few they did venture were easily deflected. Bruce muted his Brucie act so as to seem preoccupied and tired without actually seeming out of character. John remained peacefully asleep. The doctors took turns so that neither of them would get too worn out, and John's mouthful of human-shaped teeth at the end of the procedure was encouraging.

"Thank you," Bruce told them, gathering up his son. "I'm hoping to bring in Peter tomorrow night and Jack the one after next, but I'll let you know if plans change."

He went straight to the brownstone, where Cass was waiting, to drop off John; an exhausted Stephanie arrived just before he left. "How was patrol?"

"Better than _this_ ," Steph said, gesturing at the unconscious boy. "I need a hot shower. And more sleep than I know I'm going to get."

"...I'm sorry."

Stephanie waved her hand in a _"Don't worry about it"_ gesture.

 _"I take care of people I love,"_ Cassandra said in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring if her movements hadn't been filled with an undercurrent of _"Sad tired sad."_ Bruce went over to gently cup the back of her head and rest his forehead against hers for a moment. She hummed in appreciation.

Stephanie, who had been discarding bits of her Spoiler uniform on her way to the bathroom, came back to stand in front of Bruce and put her hands on her hips. "I want a forehead-touch, too. I've earned it."

She had, but it was so _awkward_... There was something about Cassandra and Dick that made showing physical affection to them easier than it was for anyone else. Still, Bruce made himself do it, and relaxed a little when Stephanie sort of snuggled into him. "Can you, like, just be my dad? Can you adopt me without Mom terminating her parental rights?"

He carefully put an arm around her waist. "I don't need adoption papers for you to be my daughter, Stephanie."

"Oh- Oh! Okay. Okay!"

Cass wormed her way under Bruce's other arm, and for a long minute, he and his daughters just stood quietly, basking in each other's love.

Then John stirred. "I need to go," Bruce said roughly, stepping away and practically fleeing the house.

He reached the manor without incident in the wee hours of the morning and went to bed immediately, feeling sad in the back of his mind that Damian, flying on Goliath, had headed straight to Titans Tower after patrol without even saying goodbye.

o.o.o.o.o

Tim sailed out of his bedroom at 7:00 a.m., rolling a suitcase behind him. He was DONE being sick and injured and bedridden, he'd had more sleep this past week than he knew what to do with, he felt physically better than he had in ages, and he needed to GET OUT.

The manor was very quiet with so many of its occupants gone or asleep. Tim dumped his suitcase in the trunk of his car and then came into the kitchen, where a depressed-looking Peter and Jack were halfway through breakfast.

"Good morning, Master Tim. Are you going into the office today?" Alfred asked, eyeing the young man's business suit.

"Yup." Tim poured himself a mug of coffee and then looked down when he felt a small arm wrap around his leg. It was Jack, sucking on his chew fidget and gazing off into the distance. "What's wrong, Jackie?"

No answer. When Tim tried to pull free, Jack squeezed tighter and shuffled after him when Tim made his way to the table. "What's up with the kids?" Tim asked.

"Well," Alfred said as he set a plate of eggs in front of the young man, "since they are convinced that Master Bruce means them harm and that anyone out of their sight is likely dead, they have no faith in our explanations, and they awakened this morning to find no sign of their brother, it logically follows that they are grieving the death of Master John."

Tim stared at the birds.

"[ _chirp-chirp_ ] ddead, bbye-bye," Peter said defiantly, and shoved another piece of tofu bacon in his mouth.

Tim tried dialing Cassandra's number, knowing that Stephanie was likely still asleep. Cass didn't pick up, though she did text a string of angry emoji a minute later. Tim texted back an emoji message of his own, indicating that he wanted the younger birds to see John. His phone rang. He answered it, and when a screaming, crowing John appeared in the vidchat window, he held the phone toward Peter and Jack.

They looked unimpressed.

Tim sighed and gave up. "John _is_ alive," he mumbled, scooping up a forkful of eggs. Jack climbed into his lap and buried his face in Tim's shoulder. Tim absently put an arm around him, but then, "OW, don't bite me! That's what your freaking pacifier is for!" There was a struggle over the chew fidget; Jack flung it away and bit Tim again, a little harder this time.

"Motherf-" Tim gritted his teeth, thinking uncharitable thoughts. "Alfreeeeed!"

They got Jack detached, but by then the little boy was throwing a tantrum, shrieking and throwing and hitting. "Oh my-"

A sharp thud startled them all. Peter, who had apparently just hurled the salt shaker, Joker-smiled and clapped his hands at the new crack in one of the windowpanes. He grabbed the pepper shaker to make another one.

"NO!" Tim bellowed, charging at him. Peter fled, cackling like the Joker. "EVIL-DICK IS RUBBING OFF ON THEM, OH MY _GOD_!"

Tim soon stopped the chase when he realized he didn't actually know what he would do with Peter if he caught the boy (also, running made his feet hurt, since they weren't 100% healed yet). Shaking his head, he returned to the kitchen, sensing Peter stalking him.

Alfred was sitting at the table, gripping a teacup in both hands. Jack was lying on the floor, screaming as he repeatedly kicked the wall with his little socked feet as hard as he could, exactly like a stereotypical bratty toddler. Tim shot an incredulous look at Alfred, who gazed back grimly.

Tim finally pointed at the six-year-old. " _That_ is not me. I _never_ did that when I was little."

"I blame you for nothing, Master Tim," Alfred said in a dead voice.

Tim's fists clenched. He had the impulse to stomp over there and _make_ the little brat shut up, but he had a feeling he wasn't going to win that battle and might cross a line trying to fight it. He sat down at the table instead and stabbed a fork into a biscuit. Alfred didn't even bother to correct his caveman manners.

"BA' BOY BA' BOY BA' BOY!" Jack shrieked.

Peter, seeing that he wasn't going to be punished at the moment, climbed back into his chair. _"Please give me eggs,"_ he asked no one, and scooped a handful of food into his mouth.

"Who is he asking," Tim muttered under his breath, also to no one. "No one's making him ask, no one's answering, he's eating regardless, why is he asking? Why are you asking, Peter? Why are you screaming for absolutely no reason, Jack? Why is this my life? Why did we decide Bat Central was a _great_ home for three little demon children from Batman's literal worst nightmare? Why, Bruce? Why, multiverse? Why?"

Alfred took a long sip of tea.

o.o.o.o.o

After a while, Jack's screams finally died away. Now he just lay on the floor crying his heart out. Tim wanted to comfort him, but he also didn't want to get bitten again, so he stayed where he was, washing down every bite of breakfast with generous gulps of coffee. Alfred continued to gaze stonily into the distance, taking a single sip of tea every few minutes.

It was Peter who soon left the table to go over and plop down on the floor, throwing his legs over the smaller boy.

Jack soon quieted. _"I miss [chirp-chirp]."_

 _"Yes."_

 _"I miss [chirp-chirp]."_

Peter patted his head.

 _"I miss [chirp-chirp] and [trill]. And Mama and Daddy and Fake-Daddy."_

 _"Everyone dies except me and you. I will keep you alive."_

 _"Master killed [chirp-chirp], now he will kill me."_

 _"We will run away before he kills us."_

 _"He will catch us and hurt us."_

 _"No."_

 _"Stupid [caw]."_

Peter kicked him lightly in annoyance and went back to his plate.

When Tim finished eating, he sighed deeply and went to go change out of his bitten suit into a fresh one. When he came back out, he hesitated by the kitchen. "Jack. Peter."

The older boy glanced briefly at Tim and then away again in disinterest, but Jack looked worried and came trotting up to him.

Tim crouched down. "Jackie, let me see your phone for a minute."

"Mmy ph'one."

"I'll give it back. I just need to fix it." Jack watched closely until Tim had finished and handed it back. "It's a real phone now. Look..." He showed the little boy how to access the newly-filled contacts list, which had a photo next to each name. Jack eagerly pressed Tim's picture before the teen could even instruct him to, and the phone started dialing.

Smiling a little, Tim took his phone out of his pocket and answered it. "Hello."

Jack stared at him, mouth hanging open in surprise.

"Hello? Who is this? Is this Jackie? Did you just call me, Jackie?"

"Ttimmy?" Jack whispered breathlessly into his own phone.

"Hey, look at you, you called me. Now we can talk even if we're far away."

Jack took the phone away from his ear to stare at it a minute, then pressed it against the side of his face again. "Ttimmy~!"

"Yeah. Well, I have to go now, monster baby." Tim rose to his feet and started backing away. "I don't know if I'll see you again soon, but if you ever need help, or if you're scared, you can call me okay?"

Jack trailed after him, keeping him in sight but listening closely to the voice that remained in his ear.

"I'm gonna go to work now, okay? Bye, Jackie."

"No, no, Ttimmy."

"It's okay. Bye, Jack." Tim hung up. Jack ran to threshold of the mud room, staring as Tim got into a car. The garage door started to rise, and the engine started.

Jack frantically stabbed at the phone screen.

 _"Hey, Jack,"_ Tim said, heading down the front drive. _"I'm going to work now."_

"Ttimmy! Ccome bback! Ccome bback, Ttimmy!"

 _"Later, Jack. I'll see you later, but I have to go now."_

[ _warble_ ] started to cry, because [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was dead and [big _chirp-chirp_ ] was dead and now Timmy was going away to be dead, too. [ _warble_ ] was all alone, only [ _caw_ ] was left, [ _caw_ ] would protect him but he wasn't very smart so Master would kill him and then [ _warble_ ] would be all alone, he would hide but Master would finally find him and kill him like he always killed everyone...!

TBC

A/N: It was supposed to go straight to the cute-sad Tim/Jack separation scene, I was totally not expecting Jack to bite him and throw a tantrum. *facepalm*

I'd been worried that my muse was finally losing interest in this fic (I'm getting more and more non-TBWS ideas and working on other stories behind the scenes), but turns out I just needed to sit my butt down in a chair and keep working.


	77. Chapter 57

_***PLEASE READ THIS CHAPTER ON AO3**_

 _The Birds Who Smile_ , a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Part 57 (rough draft)

Bruce dragged himself out of bed around 10:00 a.m. to drive into town and hide near the brownstone. He couldn't allow John to see him, but he wanted to be close enough for J'onn to include him in the mind-to-mind communication. The Martian had assured Bruce that he would act as an intermediary and allow Bruce to mentally observe without letting him make direct contact with John.

They weren't connected yet, though Bruce did get the impression from J'onn's unguarded, automatic projections that Cassandra was very strained and Simon seemed like he hadn't realized what he'd gotten himself into when he'd agreed to take a birdsitting shift. John's stubborn, exhausted rage was no surprise.

o.o.o.o.o

J'onn J'onzz arrived at the house in his human guise and Earth vehicle. Although the brownstone had been soundproofed soon after Bruce bought it years ago, the wild emotions of the occupants blasted at J'onn's mind like loud music at a party. He was not at all surprised to see the harried look on Simon Baz's face when he opened the door. "Oh man, glad you're here. Get in!" Simon shut the door hurriedly once J'onn had stepped inside.

J'onn looked around. It was a very well-made house, though currently not very homey, with most objects shut away and padding covering the walls and furniture. He could sense the distress from Simon and weary frustration from the young woman who must be Cassandra Wayne, not to mention Bruce's anxiety outside and brief impressions from various passersby, but they were all overpowered by the rage, fear, grief, frustration, boredom, and despair blasting from the little boy on the floor.

He was clad strangely by human standards, with a helmet, mouth guard, mittens taped over his hands, and sheets of plastic fastened over his clothes. He snarled raggedly as he shifted, trying to get up even though he didn't have the strength.

"He tries to hurt himself if he can't hurt us," Simon whispered. "We had to scrounge up a helmet because he was beating his head against the walls."

J'onn knelt. "Hello, little one," he murmured with both his voice and his mind.

The boy turned his face to him and immediately shot a spear of pure vitriol that sent J'onn reeling. He took a moment to recover. _"Bruce,"_ he called silently, _"have you given them any training in mental communication?"_

 _"None, why?"_ Bruce asked worriedly.

 _"He catches on very quickly, then. He sensed my method of communication and reciprocated...quite forcefully."_

 _"Hnn. (sad/resigned)"_

J'onn took a breath to steady himself and brought up some mental guards before he tried again. "John," he asked, again with a mental echo, "I would like to speak with you mind-to-mind, where we can communicate more clearly. Do I have permission to enter your mind?"

John slowly dragged himself upright. He stared hard at the Martian, projecting, _"(anger distrust fear contempt) Batman sent you."_ His silent voice was a mix of vague human-ish sounds from multiple languages and simultaneous birdsong.

 _"_ _Bruce_ _sent me,"_ J'onn replied, this time without bothering to speak, emphasizing the image of the compassionate, courageous Bruce Wayne he knew rather than the sadistic, laughing demon in John's thoughts. He paused a moment to sift through the boy's wordless response. _"'Daddy' sent me, not the Batman Who Laughs."_

 _"DADDY IS FAKE FAKE RIP BLEED TRICK_ _FAKE_ _!"_ John snarled immediately, making J'onn wince despite his wards.

 _"In the realm of the mind, there is little room for deception. Be still and quiet a moment, and consider. Your 'Daddy,' my 'Bruce,' look at them, at him."_ He presented the image and impression of the best of Bruce Wayne. _"Is he false?"_

 _"(REJECTION) I kill Batman kill Batman die me kill or die, NOTHING ELSE, NOTHING, NOTHING."_

J'onn struggled to continue keeping his breathing even. It did not seem like the boy would permit him inside, and to enter someone's mind without permission was akin to rape. _"Will you please come into my own mind? I will submit, you may explore any unlocked door you wish."_

John hesitated. In the end, it was sheer boredom that sent him drifting across the mental link, following J'onn's guidance into the Martian's mind. For all the boy's iron determination, he didn't _enjoy_ beating himself against walls or screaming his throat raw, and having nothing else he was willing to fill his time with as he waited for Batman to come fight him was extremely tedious.

John's mental self was a bird, almost. Human arms extended beneath the wings, tipped with hard, curved fingers like talons. The beak was flat and strange, there was no tail, but otherwise the rather ugly-looking creature was far more bird than boy.

It was also a gory sight, pieces half-ripped or half-cut off and dangling from remaining strips of flesh, blood seeping from countless wounds, the body as a whole looking like it was missing chunks entirely. It looked like a monster made of puzzle pieces, not all of them present, dragging itself along and leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

John hovered on the surface of the Martian's mind, as J'onn carefully kept Bruce's presence behind one of the locked doors. After a moment, John made a move toward an open door containing J'onn's innocent, happy memories, but then he dropped to the 'ground' and stubbornly stayed still.

 _"Would you like me to show you around?"_

 _"You want want want what I DO NOT WANT to give,"_ John sulked.

J'onn considered. He eased behind the most carefully-locked door and reached for Bruce's love for his son. Bruce's mind-self uncomfortably clung to it, but J'onn tugged gently. _"It is for John. There is no shame here, Bruce."_

 _"(sulky/embarrassed),"_ Bruce grumbled, but soon let go.

J'onn held the bundle of love very, very carefully as he came back out and re-locked the door behind him. He approached the bird monster. _"John. This is for you."_

John looked at it. He stared. Then he burst into tears. He wept as he accepted the love and held it, resting his face against it. _"Papà and Mamma love me like this..."_ He frowned and slowly pulled away, inspecting the love more closely, and found the guilt and pain hidden inside it. He flung it away. _"THAT'S NOT_ _PAPÀ_ _AND MAMMA!"_

 _"John- John, he isn't them, but he loves you as much as-"_

It was as if an invisible cleaver struck John. He jerked and then went limp in midair, his head lolling to the side and his eyes lifeless. The gash began and ended well beyond either side of his neck, as if it had been a blow meant to split the world and had simply caught John in the middle. His corpse hung from the wound across his half-severed neck. Blood streamed out of that horrible wide slash mark, blood had sprayed all over J'onn, who felt physically ill; John's blood had even sprayed across the doors, through them, all the way to Bruce, who painfully jerked himself free of J'onn's mind and lay gasping in his car, nauseaous and shaking all over.

In the brownstone, J'onn stared, disoriented, finding himself in the tangible world again. It was almost strange to see John as a relatively ordinary creature, whole and small and bloodless and impassive. He did not at all look like he'd just been in an alien's mind, nothing in his expression even reflected the trauma he'd just induced on both himself and two other mind-selves.

"I can't help him," J'onn gasped, staggering to his feet. "I can't- help him, he's too broken, he doesn't want me to- Such _pain_ , how can they stand it...?!"

o.o.o.o.o

Tamara Fox walked into the office with her mouth open in preparation to speak, but then she slowly closed it and frowned.

Tim was spinning lazily in his chair as he held a document. "...and these are super-boring," he was saying aloud, "but I have to read them, because I'm the boss, so guess what, _you_ have to listen to them, too~!" He started reading the document aloud, but then saw Tam and paused with a smile. "Oh, hey, look, it's my friend, Tam. Tim and Tam. The newspapers had a lot of stupid fun with our names when everyone thought we were engaged."

"Timothy," Tam said very warily, "who are you talking to?" He _was_ wearing an earpiece, but she couldn't think of a single person he would speak to like that while at work.

"My brother."

"Don't all your brothers already know who I am?"

"Not the new babies."

Tam gasped in realization. "Ohhh! The Arkham Robins? You're talking to one right now?!"

"Yup." Tim pressed a button on his phone. "Jackie, say hi to Tam."

There was silence. Tam started to second-guess her assumption that Tim was sane and/or telling the truth.

"You're not gonna say hi to my friend?" After a moment, Tim, grinning a little, met Tam's eyes and held his finger over his lips. Tam waited silently, growing more and more apprehensive as she started expecting some horrible Bat-related thing to jump out of nowhere and kidnap her or try to kill her, or Tim, or something.

The thing that finally happened was a little voice wailing from the phone, _"Ttimmy?!"_

"Oh, _there_ you are!" Tim crooned. "You wouldn't answer, so I thought you hung up on me." He explained to Tam, "I made the mistake of reactivating his phone because I felt guilty about abandoning him, and now he's punishing me with separation anxiety."

"That'll teach you," Tam said.

"Yeah, that'll teach me to upgrade my little brothers' tech."

"I meant that'll teach you to abandon him, you jerk!"

"Jackie," Tim coaxed, "can you say hi to Tam now?"

 _"..."_

"He's a rude little brat," Tim told Tam matter-of-factly. "Also an alternate universe version of me, so."

"Makes sense," Tam agreed. "Um, but you can't exactly keep an external line open during the top-secret meeting I came to get you ready for."

Tim frowned. "Oh yeah." He looked at the phone. "Jack, I have to hang up now."

 _"Nnooooooooooooo!"_

"Jack, you have, like, ten other numbers in your phone. Call Dick or something, I have to go."

 _"Ttimmy, ccome bback!"_

"Later, not now. Bye, Jack, I love you!" Tim hung up firmly, because he knew there was no way Jack was going to willingly let him go.

"You really are a jerk!" Tam exclaimed. "At least don't tell him 'I love you' right before you _abandon_ him, that's so mean!"

Tim shrugged. "My parents did it to me all the time, and I turned out fine."

"Debatable," Tam said dryly.

"Don't we have a meeting to get to?"

"I'm glad we never got married. You would have traumatized our kids, Timothy Drake."

"Yeah, I think I'd be good at that," Tim remarked as he rejected a new call from Jack and sent a few heart emoji instead.

"Don't _brag_ about it, geez!"

o.o.o.o.o

Bruce and J'onn sat silently in the car for a long, long time. The Martian finally murmured, "He quite literally thinks he is a bird. His mind-self is barely human, Bruce. Even his mind-voice is partially that of a bird."

Bruce folded his hands on top of the steering wheel and rested his forehead against them.

"I could heal him if he was willing, but he doesn't _want_ to be healed, Bruce. He has narrowed down his entire life to seeking either your death or his own. The only people I have seen who are similarly beyond help are all villains."

"...What have I done?" Bruce whispered.

J'onn hesitated, then laid a hand on his shoulder. "It was not you who damaged him, Bruce. Your love for him is beautiful, and he _did_ respond to it at first. It may be that that child is lost forever, but, Bruce...I do know that if anyone can help him, it is you. It _must_ be you, because you are the only person who exists for him now."

"I can't let him die, that's out of the question, and I can't let him-" Bruce raised his head. He stared off into the distance with such a dark look that a shudder went down J'onn's spine. Then Bruce flicked out his communicator and messaged his family and the League: _I need to convincingly stage my own death, with John witnessing. I might need your help._

o.o.o.o.o

[ _warble_ ] stared at his phone in a growing panic. Timmy was dead now, so he touch touch touched until he found the pictures. He touched [big _chirp-chirp_ ]'s picture. [big _chirp-chirp_ ] was dead, but he wanted [big _chirp-chirp_ ]'s voice, and _brrring_ and _brrring_ and-

 _"Dick Grayson, who's this?"_

 _"[big chirp-chirp]?!"_

 _"Awwww, which baby bird is this?"_

"Ddi'ckie, Ddi'ckie, Ttimmy ddead!"

 _"Timmy's dead?!"_

Jack burst into tears.

 _"Hold on a sec, baby bird!"_

"DDI'CKIIIIIEEE!"

 _"All right, all right, all right, don't hang on a sec..."_

o.o.o.o.o

[*CENSORED BECAUSE FFN IS STUPID*]

o.o.o.o.o

There was a long pause, finally broken by another _tim_ text from Jack.

"Oh for the love of..." Tim muttered. _Dick, get off the line so I can call him again._ Tim needed to get back to his meeting. Bruce was the one who'd last updated WE's security protocols, _he_ could deal with confidential information about in-development tech being overheard by a six-year-old.

TBC

A/N: **I decided at one point to change John's name for his biological father, partly to distinguish from what the birds call nice-Bruce, but then I realized that it would also make more sense for a kid with a non-American dad to call him something other than "Daddy." I've seen a lot of fanfics use "Tati," but turns out that's Romanian, not Romani. The actual Romani term for one's dad is "Dad." XD So then I decided to go the Italian route, since I prefer the** _ **Grayson**_ **version of Dick's parents' backstory, and John Grayson's legal name in that version is Giovanni.**

The texting sequence was completely unplanned. I don't even have a smartphone, I had to look up all those emoji on Emojipedia. X'''D I have to go back later and figure out better grammar for Cass's emoji language.

I've been wanting to work on holiday fics and stuff, but my TBWS muse is back in full force, so it might be just this story for a while. And Cass's library story, whenever I have the chance to get it off my tablet.


	78. Chapter 58

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 58 (rough draft)**

That night, when Bruce took an unconscious Peter into town to get his teeth fixed, Alfred accompanied them so that he could transfer to the brownstone afterward. Stephanie fell into the butler's arms immediately upon opening the door.

"How is John?" Bruce asked in a murmur, not hearing any screams from inside.

"He ate!" Stephanie said hysterically. "It was off the floor, but he swallowed a grand total of five bites! And he slept! Twice! Once for fifteen minutes, and once for a whopping _twenty_! Oh, but that wasn't counting the time we drugged him for a while so he wouldn't permanently damage his vocal cords!"

Bruce felt his lips pressed into a thin line. "I know you're doing your best," he choked out. "Good job." He practically fled to the car.

o.o.o.o.o

Peter was greatly disoriented and upset when he woke up, though he calmed down once he had explored the brownstone and determined that he could still eat even with his new blunt teeth. He seemed greatly surprised to see John and cried no matter how much Alfred and the others tried to reassure him that Jack was still alive and well. Peter lay on the floor for over an hour, drawing pictures of his 'dead' little brother. Neither he nor John acknowledged each other's existence.

o.o.o.o.o

The manor was very quiet. With Tim having decided to basically live at Wayne Tower for a while, the only ones left were Bruce, Duke, Jack, and the animals.

Bruce slept for a couple of hours and then, when he was alerted to Jack's awakening, went straight to the Batcave, isolated except for the live audio feed he was getting from Duke's comm. He kept an eye on the video footage from the Robin Monitor as he ate a couple of protein bars for breakfast and worked on assorted Bat, WE, and death-staging projects.

o.o.o.o.o

[ _warble_ ] woke up alone. His heart beat fast fast fast with fear, because now [ _caw_ ] was gone. Master took [ _caw_ ] away when he was sleeping and killed him.

[ _warble_ ] looked anyway, in the bathroom and closet and aaaallll the way in the kitchen. No [ _caw_ ].

"He's safe, Jack. I promise."

"Yess," [ _warble_ ] said, because Duke was nice but he was Master's flockmate, not [ _warble_ ]'s. [ _warble_ ] had no flockmates left, except for Bear.

He looked at Bear. He couldn't protect [ _chirp-chirp_ ] or [ _caw_ ], and he knew he couldn't protect Bear, either. He could protect only himself, and maybe not even that. Bear had to go away soon.

That made [ _warble_ ] sad, so he hugged Bear tight.

o.o.o.o.o

Duke made eggs and toast for breakfast. Jack was so very quiet that Duke felt awkward and finally pulled up a show on his tablet for them to watch together while they ate. When they finished, the teen put their plates and stuff in the dishwasher, then looked back at the little boy. Jack said and did nothing, simply sat there hugging Bear and watching the entryway. He barely reacted even when Titus came over to snuffle at his feet.

"So," Duke said awkwardly, "what do you want to do, Jack?" They had an entire day to kill. Bruce was paying him to babysit, and though Jack was being weirdly well-behaved so far, it was also creeping Duke out a little.

"Wwhenn wwilll Bbat'mman ccome?" Jack asked with careful pronunciation.

"He's not. It's just you and me today, buddy. All day."

"..."

"Do you want to play outside? Or play a game? Or watch something?"

After a moment, Jack took out his phone and called Tim.

 _"Uuugggnnngggnn,"_ the mostly-asleep teen groaned into the phone before hanging up.

Jack called Dick.

 _"Baby bird, it's_ _way_ _too early! Call me later, okay? I gotta go. I'm so tired. I'll call you later, okay?"_

Jack called Damian.

 _"Hello?"_

"..."

 _"Drake?"_

"Yeah," Duke called, since the child had the phone in speaker mode.

 _"Why is he calling me?"_

"I don't know. He's bored? Lonely? Freaked out that both his brothers are gone now?"

 _"Drake, Grayson and Todd are perfectly fine, and I am busy."_

"..."

"He was doing this yesterday, too, just calling people and making them ramble to him all day."

 _"*siiiiiiiigh* Very well, Drake. I just finished my morning training and am now enjoying a cup of tea while I wait for my lazy, ill-bred teammates to get out of bed. Last night was not particularly productive, though I suppose the lack of criminal activity is ultimately a positive sign..."_

Jack spent the entire day keeping his back against various walls. He stood or crouched in rooms, traveling from one to the other by walking sideways, always keeping his field of vision as open as possible. His phone was constantly in his hand, emitting a steady stream of chatter from whoever he'd managed to get ahold of at the moment. Bear was tucked under his other arm, with Jack's hand clutching his chew fidget. At one point, he bit it completely in half, and stared at it in surprise.

"Oh, crap," Duke exclaimed. "Let me get you another one, Jack, hold on- No no no, don't bite yourself! Just _two minutes_ while I find the- Yeah, okay, that's fine, chew Bear! He won't mind. Just, keep your teeth on Bear, okay, I'll be _right back_ , do _not_ be bleeding when I come back, little man, I mean it."

Duke was bored out of his mind by dinnertime, and kept reminding himself that Jack's quiet, polite anxiety was better than the tantrums he knew the rest of the family were dealing with back at the brownstone. He heated up one of the meals Alfred had left for them and ate it in the living room with the TV on, sitting by the wall next to Jack because the little boy refused to sit on the couch. The new chew fidget was a shredded mess by now and looked like it would need to be replaced again before bedtime.

Duke put an arm around his youngest brother and squeezed gently. "You know you're safe, Jack. I won't let anything happen to you, okay? You'll get to see John and Peter tomorrow."

"O'kkay," Jack said, polite and distant.

After dinner, Duke got the little boy ready for bed. Jack was obedient and cooperative except for the fact that he spent fifteen minutes sitting on the toilet, holding Bear tight with his face buried in the toy's fur. Duke, lounging on the bed and drafting a blog post, looked up gratefully when he finally heard the toilet flush. He went and pushed open the bathroom door again, where he found Jack washing his hands and Bear carelessly discarded on the floor.

Duke set the toy upright beside the sink. "Okay, Jack, I know what you're gonna choose, but I'm supposed to ask, anyway. Do you want a bath or a shower?"

"Plllease gi'vve me sshho'wah," Jack said, still enunciating more carefully than usual. He showered and brushed his teeth and got into pajamas without a problem, then took his stuffed animal and carried it out of the bathroom. "Ddu'kke, plllease o'ppen wwindow."

"Ummm..." Duke listened to his comm for a moment. "Okay, but I'm gonna hold onto you, Jack, and we have to close it again before you go to bed."

Jack did not respond to this, and did not seem to care when Duke kept a hand lightly closed around his upper arm. The child reached to push Bear out the window. They watched the toy tumble two stories down to the ground, Jack impassively and Duke in disbelief. "Bbea' ddead. Bbye-bye, Bbea'," Jack said, then trotted over to climb into bed.

"Okaaaayy," Duke said warily.

 _"I'll get the bear later,"_ Bruce told him, so Duke closed the window and went to read bedtime stories to Jack.

About an hour after the little boy had lain still with closed eyes and deep, even breaths, Bruce moved soundlessly into the room. Duke, reading on the divan, looked up in case he was needed. Bruce reached to administer the medication that would keep Jack unconscious and free of pain during the trip to town and the dental procedure.

He was badly startled when the child surged up with an unholy screech and slashed a fork at him that Bruce barely managed to dodge. By the time the man regained his wits, Jack had already flown out into the hall.

Bruce chased after him, a corner of his mind amazed that Jack had managed to fool them, had been prepared for an 'attack,' and now had a significant head start. In the end, though, Jack was six years old and running from Batman, so it wasn't long before he was caught.

The child let out a heartrending cry of despair when he was seized. He fought hard, staring up at Bruce in utter terror. "Ppees, ppees, I goo' bboy!" he begged. "I goo' boy, I goo' boy...!"

It wasn't the first time Bruce had had to pin down a terrified child to medicate them, but it was usually in the context of administering an antidote to fear toxin. It _hurt_ to such fear in eyes that were clear and aware, and he wasn't even wearing the cowl.

"Nnoooooo!" Jack wept as he was subdued, completely devastated. "Nnoooooo, I goo' boy, pees...I, I goo'dd boy, pll...llease...!" As soon as Bruce let him go, Jack stumbled to his feet and tried to run, but only managed three steps before staggering into the wall. On his hands and knees, he dragged himself desperately down the hall, sobbing with fear like he was fleeing from a monster in a horror movie. His strength gave out and he soon succumbed to the drug, whimpering for his mother just before falling into unconsciousness.

The silence seemed to pulse. Bruce approached and picked up his child with a heavy heart, holding Jack close in a way he knew he would never be allowed to do when the boy was awake. "You're done. Thank you for your help," he said roughly to Duke, who was watching just outside the children's bedroom with his fist pressed against his mouth and his eyes wide with horror.

o.o.o.o.o

The procedure went as well as the previous ones had. However, Bruce got a text from Stephanie near the end that said, _he screams for you 24/7, and he's riling up peter. cass won't stop crying, vic is scared. alfred YELLED. i can't do this anymore bruce._

Bruce swallowed hard. _'It won't be for long,'_ he thought. A week, maybe, to finish all the preparations. He just had to keep John from killing himself for five or six days, then he would be 'dead' and if the universe was merciful, John would at last be able to relax and heal. _I'll take him_ , he texted. _Can you handle just Peter and Jack?_

It took a while, but the answer finally came: _maybe_

 _Jack was very good for Duke today. Peter will calm down when they're reunited. I'll take care of John. You don't have to worry about him anymore. Just the younger two; can you do it?_

Another long pause. _alfred says yes. cass still crying_

 _You're doing well, sweetheart. You and your sister can rest once I take John. Victor and Alfred will look after the younger children, you can rest._

There was no answer. Bruce finally texted Duke to warn him, and told him where the keys to the penthouse were, if he didn't feel comfortable going to stay at the brownstone or with Dick until the whole mess blew over. It technically was against the rules for Bruce to let his foster son live with anyone other than himself, but it would do Duke more harm than good to force him to stay in the same house as an out-of-control creature from another world.

Bruce felt like a mess of anxiety when he reached the brownstone. Stephanie looked exhausted to the point of anger when she opened the door, and didn't bother to greet Bruce, just turned around so she could carry Jack piggyback to a bed. She was gone as soon as the unconscious boy was settled on her back, and Victor came into view, carrying an also-unconscious John.

"Bruce...I don't know what to say, man," he murmured as he transferred the older boy into Bruce's arms.

"Peter and Jack should give you far less trouble," Bruce said shortly. "Don't worry about John. Nobody has to worry about John anymore, I've got him." He turned away, not even wanting to hear the younger man's response.

When he reached the manor, he carried the boy down to the cave for an IV, since it sounded like the child had barely had anything to eat or drink in the past couple of days, and he wouldn't be able to inject John with anything when he was conscious. Once that was done, he laid the boy on the couch in the living room, then retreated, setting up the Robin Monitor to alert him at the first sign of consciousness.

o.o.o.o.o

John awakened to find himself back in the Bat house, though it was empty and silent. Not dark, though, because of all the sunlight streaming through the big windows. He pushed the cat off his head; he pushed and pushed and pushed until Titus finally got off of him. He dragged himself off the couch and went searching for Batman.

All the doors were locked. He couldn't get into any rooms, and Batman was nowhere he could see. He went to the kitchen that had no door to lock, but that was empty, too. He went to the knife drawer, but it was child-locked; so were all the other drawers, and the refrigerator. He grabbed a chair and tried to drag it along after him, but he was too weak. He pushed the chair over. It finally fell with a satisfying/scary crash, but it didn't break apart.

No weapons. No people.

John shivered. "Bbatt'mmaAAAAANNN!" He was frightened now. He hated, HATED this feeling, just like when Batman used to Laugh and not pretend, the feeling that he hated Batman and wanted to get away but was so _lonely_ he wanted Batman just because he was a _person_. "BBATTMMMAAA-!"

A soft sound. Batman, looking around the corner at him, _still_ not Smiling.

John twitched, intending to attack. But he didn't, because he was afraid. His fear, constant fear kept sloshing around inside him, _just then_ it had sloshed to the 'I want to fight Batman!' side but _now_ it sloshed to the 'I'm afraid and want to run away' side. With 'lonely lonely there's a PERSON' all mixed up with it.

"John," Bruce said quietly.

John hissed.

"You've been calling for me."

 _"...Kill you."_

"Would you like to fight, or would you like to eat something, or do something else?"

There was a long pause. Then John finally flew at him with a scream of rage, and Bruce wearily defended himself from every vicious attack the boy tried.

o.o.o.o.o

Sometimes John attacked him. Sometimes he hid. Bruce left bottles of nutrition shakes around the manor; sometimes John drank them, other times he ignored them or threw them.

Bruce couldn't stay out of the boy's sight for long, because John kept looking for ways to kill himself if he couldn't find Bruce.

One time, he lashed out at the dog, only the mittens saving Titus from injury. The Great Dane still yelped in pain at the force of the blow and then woofed so deeply and loudly that John startled away. Bruce shut the animal outside, where John couldn't get at him.

John slept only once in 30 hours, climbing to the top shelf of a linen closet and curling up there for about 50 minutes before swinging himself down again. That was the only time Bruce slept, too.

Bathing wasn't worth it. A few times, when the smell indicated the boy needed changing, Bruce had to hold him down long enough to undo the plastic and the mittens. John, soon after being released, got rid of the rest on his own (including the mouth guard, unfortunately), except for the helmet which he couldn't unfasten himself. The first time, he was too distracted by the feel of his new teeth, kneeling there naked with his incredulous hands probing his mouth while Bruce cleaned the mouth guard and got fresh garments for him. That was only the first time; after that, it was a matter of dodging or enduring attacks to get clean garments on him, and plastic so they'd stay on, and mittens to keep John disarmed, and the mouth guard to protect his newly-repaired teeth from all the biting he clearly wanted to do.

Sometimes Bruce received texts from his family and friends, asking if he and John were all right.

 _Fine_ , he always answered.

 _there's no way you're fine_ , Stephanie pointed out.

Bruce didn't reply to that.

o.o.o.o.o

It was near sunset on the second day when Bruce's phone pinged with a notification. It was one that needed immediate attention, so Bruce halted the fight and restrained John so he could check, ignoring the hoarse, furious shrieking and struggling.

 _"BRUCE WAYNE!"_ the visitor screamed into the camera at the gates, _"LEMME IN! I NEED TA TALK TA BATMAN! THEY TOOK MY DAUGHTER! LEMME IN!"_

TBC

A/N: *fist pump* Yes! Beginning of the end of JvB!


	79. Chapter 59

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 59 (rough draft)**

"Harley," Bruce said, "if something happened to your daughter, you need to go to the police."

Her face twisted. _"I'm_ _Harley Quinn_ _. You think the_ _GCPD_ _can handle bad guys_ _I_ _can't?"_

She had a point. "I'm _not promising_ anything, Harley," he said, "but I'll take whatever information you have and pass it on to Batman." He opened the gate and then immediately, while she was making her way up the drive, called Tim. John was quiet now so that he could concentrate more on trying to struggle free, without success. Tim's phone went straight to voicemail, which meant he was either focusing on urgent business or his phone had been destroyed. Bruce hoped it was the former.

Harley parked her motorcycle at the foot of the front steps, rushed up to the door, and pounded on it. There was no answer except for a clacking sound where the latch was, and when she tried it, the door swung open. She started to storm inside, then slowed and stared around in surprise until she reached where a disheveled Bruce Wayne was kneeling on the floor, keeping a very angry kid pinned with one arm and as he helplessly poked at his phone with the other.

"This place looks like a loony bin," Harley remarked.

"Just tell me the details and go."

John went still and stared at the newcomer, eyes widening when she flashed a brief, shark-like smile at him. She looked back at Bruce and flicked out a flash drive, waving it in two fingers. "Everythin's on here, phone calls, threats an' demands, all the dirt I dug up on 'em, everythin' I remember about 'em from the old days."

Bruce eyed John warily before reaching out to take the drive. "How long has-" he just barely stopped himself from saying the little girl's name, since it wasn't something that 'Bruce Wayne' would know, "-she been missing?"

Harley's voice softened miserably. "They grabbed her at school yesterday, at recess, an' no one told Delia until she came ta pick her up. She called me an' I tracked down a minion 'fore I even got the first video, aaaaannn'..." She twirled the end of a pigtail in her fingers in a show of childish sheepishness, "Mighta been a li'l _enthusiastic_ with my interrogatin'."

"Did you kill them?" Bruce snapped, not even realizing it was in Batman's harsh tone until he felt John shudder.

Harley didn't seem to notice the slip-up. "Nah, Kitty stopped me, reminded me I didn't need Batman on my tail on toppa everythin' else."

 _''Kitty'?'_ He couldn't ask, since, unlike Batman, Bruce Wayne wouldn't have any particular interest in Harley Quinn's companions. "Harley. Listen. I _promise_ I will get this information to Batman, but there might be a delay in any action." It depended on how long it took him to get ahold of Tim, since Red Robin was the only available Bat in town whom Bruce trusted to successfully complete a solo mission against Quinn-level adversaries. He didn't want to pull Cassandra away from the brownstone if there was another option, Batgirl was currently occupied with a mission of her own, and Batwoman would save the child but might mishandle her mother. Bruce much preferred not to unnecessarily antagonize or alienate Quinn.

Harley's eyes narrowed. "What, Bats is still asleep in his coffin? Then _wake him up_ , Wayne. This is my _daughter_ we're talkin' about."

"Yes, Harleen," Bruce said through gritted teeth, "and _this_ is my son. My deeply disturbed son with special needs whom I have _no other caretaker for_ during the time it will take me to brief Batman. I'm trying to get through to Red Robin as we speak, but until I can reach him, unless you want to get the police involved, you'll have to wait."

" _I'll_ watch the kid! He'll be safe, just go get Lucy!"

"I can't leave him with you! I want to, _I'm_ worried about Lucy, too, but I CAN'T, Harleen!" No matter how straight Harley had gone now, no matter what else he might be able to bring himself to trust her with, he could not leave the safey of one of his most vulnerable children in the hands of Harley Quinn. "He won't eat or sleep or even use the damn toilet, he constantly tries to hurt or kill himself when he's not literally trying to kill me, he outlasted the patience of all the best people I know, I _can't leave him alone with you_."

"Maybe you can try Arkham For Kids, sounds like he'd fit in _great_ there," she sneered, obviously still bitter about her own time in Arkham. Then she looked at John again, who had been surprisingly quiet and non-violent all this time, his eyes fixed on the woman with chalk-white skin. "What's wrong with him, anyway?"

"I would think you'd understand better than most what he endured as a captive of a sadistic psychopath with the mind of the Joker."

Harley squatted to get a better look at the boy. "Huh." John hissed at her, and she grinned in response.

Catwoman came storming in at that moment. "This is _not_ what I meant, Harley!"

"We weren't gonna get any further on our own!" Harley yelled back. "This is _Lucy_ at stake! If I hafta crawl on my knees ta Bats ta get her home safe, then _that's what I'm gonna do_!"

Catwoman glared at Bruce, then tilted her head in confusion. "Is that...John?" The boy started squirming again. "What are you _doing_ to him?"

"Kid's certifiable, so now Wayne won't leave him for the five minutes it'll take ta call up Bats on his super-secret Bat Phone," Harley supplied.

"I am not leaving my nine-year-old son alone with his abuser's ex-girlfriend," Bruce growled.

Harley held up a finger. "Hey, Mistah B was fucked up even for _me_. I like _fun_ -murdery-crazy, not rabid-kids-on-leashes-crazy."

"Doesn't matter. I'm not leaving him alone with you."

Harley suddenly looked caluclating. " _Except_...he won't be _alone_ with me if Kitty stays."

"No," Bruce and Catwoman said in unison.

There was a very long pause. John bent his head and closed his jaws around Bruce's arm. The blunt teeth, mouth guard, and armor meant he couldn't pierce skin, but he was certainly trying.

Harley's phone suddenly started up with an ugly ringtone, and she snatched it up and answered in a way that made it clear that the caller was using vidchat. "If you hurt her," Harley said, a slight tremor in her voice, "ain't nothin' stoppin' me from feedin' ya your own entrails 'fore I mash your brains out through your eye sockets."

The voice, spoken through a harsh modulator, replied derisively. A minute later, Harley's face crumpled. "Lucy! Don' worry, baby, Auntie Harley's comin' for ya, just hang on-"

 _"O-okay, Aunt Harley... I want my mom..."_

"I know, honey, just hang on, I'm bringin' out the big guns for ya, darlin'."

 _"I-"_ The child's voice cut off with a cry.

"YOU BASTARD!" Harley screeched, her face now twisted with rage. "DON'T YOU FUCKIN' TOUCH HER!" John, frightened, was now struggling to get away rather than attack, and Bruce let him go. The boy ran to crouch in a corner. Catwoman had set a hand on her friend's shoulder and was now watching Harley's phone screen with a grim set to her mouth.

 _"You got six more hours. Time's ticking,"_ the modulated voice said ruthlessly, then the call ended. Harley thrust her phone at Selina, then strode, screaming, to the nearest wall and punched it so hard the padding was knocked down. Bruce was pretty sure she would have punched the wall even if it hadn't had any padding at all.

He was shaking a little with anger at the people who had taken Lucy. Even though he hadn't seen the video, just the sound of the fear in that little girl's voice had twisted his heart. He looked up at the women.

"I'll watch John," Catwoman said. "I'll stay with him and Harley. Go- Go call Batman."

Bruce was silent for a long moment.

"Please," Harley begged. "I promise, I _promise_ I won't hurt him. I have a baby, too, I'd never hurt yours. If they hurt her, I'll- I won't _die_ die, but you don' wanna see me when I'm grievin' my daughter with nothin' ta lose."

Such a thing would have dire consequences for the entire city.

Bruce shut his eyes. He trusted Selina with many things, but not everything. He knew that she was a good woman at heart and that she would never hurt a child, but still...to leave the most deeply wounded of his small birds all alone with no one but two criminals to keep him safe, when even Bruce's own family hadn't been able to handle him...

"Kitten." Bruce looked up to find Selina crouching near the corner, crooning to a wary John. "Come here, sweetheart. Don't you remember me?" She lowered her mask. "It's Selina. Catwoman. We had a good visit last time, didn't we? You let me pet Alfred."

 _"...Kill him."_

"Maybe later, kitten, but right now he has to make a very important phone call."

John looked at Bruce. _"I hate you."_

Bruce looked back at John. The boy was currently not screaming, trying to hurt himself, or trying to hurt anyone else. "Selina," Bruce said. She looked at him. "He's my son." He was still on his knees. The desperate plea was clear in his voice and eyes, as was the threat.

"He'll be safe, Bruce."

Bruce looked at Harley. "He is my son."

She met his gaze squarely. "She's my daughter."

Bruce slowly got to his feet. "There's a...manual. Let me..." He tapped at his phone to send the document to Selina's. Halfway through, John charged at him; Bruce blocked him with one arm. John tried a few more thwarted strikes, then kicked him in the crotch. Harley applauded. Bruce, who'd included a cup along with the armor under his clothes, simply winced a little, braced his back foot to keep his balance, and continued typing, adding a couple of last-minute details.

He sent the message and then caught John's arm. "I'm leaving."

" _crow_!"

"I will probably be gone all night; no matter how much you call for me, I will not come. Selina and Harley will stay here and keep you safe. If they do not keep you safe, I will rescue you and make you safe again. Do not hurt them for no reason. Do you understand, John?"

" _crow_ "

Bruce looked up at the women and narrowed his eyes. "If anything goes wrong, I will know."

"Wow, yanno who ya remind me of? Batman! Sound just like him," Harley said brightly.

Bruce didn't have any good way to vent his anger and anxiety, so he left.

John frowned after where he had gone. Harley studied him. Selina looked at her phone and started scrolling through the long document Bruce had sent her, brow furrowed incredulously and lips moving silently as she skim-read.

"I just realized I haven't eaten anythin' in ten hours," Harley announced. She strode over to the kitchen, not noticing John trail after her. She managed to figure out the child-lock and then started digging through the refrigerator. "Ooohh, are these _homemade_?!" She pulled out the dish and stuck it in the microwave for a minute or two, then brought it over to the table.

John stopped a couple of feet away and stared at her. Harley stared back in a challenging way as she munched on a potato wedge.

After a minute, John reached out to steal a bit of potato off her plate. She snapped her teeth at his mittened fingers; he jerked his hand back and hissed. They stared at each other a minute longer.

This time, he reached more slowly, hand hovering near the plate rather than grabbing. "Pppeess."

She shrugged. "Yeah, sure, why not. Here." He flinched at the small knife she pulled out, but she was gentle cutting the tape and then removing the mittens. While she was at it, she cut the plastic off, too. She tugged the mouth guard free as well, picked up her burger, and pushed the plate of potatoes and salad closer to John. They continued to watch each other as they ate steadily.

"Soooo, what kinda things do ya like, kid?"

"..."

"Trucks? Ballerinas? My Lucy likes both a' those."

He reached up and grasped her pink pigtail, holding onto it as he continued to eat.

"They called ya 'John' earlier. Bats isn't very imaginative, is he."

" _crow_ " John said softly, letting go of her hair again.

"Mistah B really did a number on ya, huh."

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha..."

"Ya know it's always weird ta hear that kinda laugh out loud? Heard it so much when we were datin', I hear it alla time in my head now, like tinnitus."

John tilted his head curiously.

"Or maybe it was the drugs that did it, or the brainwashin'." She shrugged. "He did so much shit to me, I can't keep it all straight."

"...Hhhellllo, sswwwee'ttt bbbir'dd," John whispered. "Gggotta nnnew ggame..."

"Lucky little bastard."

John stared.

"He actually paid attentiont to ya, huh. You were his favorite pet and everything."

 _"He hurt me."_

"He hurts _everyone_ , Johnny. That's what he _does_. He hurt you by makin' ya his favorite, he hurt me by always shovin' me aside." She fingered the boy's leash scars. "You know what I woulda given for some a' this kinky shit? No matter how I made myself up or what I said, no matter what I did, he never _really_ wanted me. No matter how much I begged for his attention, he never gave me a second glance. I left him for a _year_ to have our baby, an' he didn't even notice."

 _"You leave_ _come back_ _?"_ John realized incredulously.

"He was my sunshine, back then. Of course I came back."

 _"You're crazy."_

"Never said I wasn't." She licked the grease off her fingers and stood up. "I can't sit on my butt worryin' all night. Let's blow this joint, little birdie." She took John's hand, and he trotted after her as she strode to the front door.

"Harley," Selina called absently, now just scrolling without even reading as she tried to figure out how ridiculously long this Robin Manual was, "I'm gonna go look for his elephant."

"Sure thing, Kitty!" They practically ran down the steps in their excitement. John was already conveniently wearing a helmet; Harley dug goggles and a safety harness out of a compartment on her motorcycle, usually used to transport friends who were too injured or too drunk to be trusted to hold onto her the entire way home. She gave John a quick safety lesson about what parts of the bike to avoid, then got them both settled in the harness and on the vehicle.

Inside the house, Selina's head shot up when she heard the sound of a revving motorcycle. She rushed to the closest window, swore explosively, and scrambled down the stairs and across Bruce's _stupidly enormous house_ to get to her own ride, but by then, Harley Quinn and John were out of sight, giving no clue to where they'd gone.

TBC

A/N: **I see way too many fics that mention motorcycle-riding characters bringing children along on their bikes in completely unsafe ways (for example, no passenger should ever be in front of the driver). Best article I found for how to safely ride on a motorcycle with a child is here (the link won't work on FFN though): riding-motorcycles-with-child-passengers**

 **In this fic, the helmet John is wearing is NOT good enough to fully protect him in the event of a motorcycle crash, but at least he is wearing one that fits (adult-size helmets will fly right off a child wearer in the event of a crash). He's also lacking in other protective clothing and gear, and I'm not sure how much the size of the safety harness is an issue. Anyway, if you're going to bring a kid on a motorcycle, you need adequate safety measures. Conveniently for me, a motorcycle harness or belt happens to be the only transportation restraint that the birds don't have a huge problem with, since it binds them to a person in the open outdoors rather than to a surface in an enclosed vehicle.**

Harley's daughter Lucy is from the "Injustice" universe (Harley left Joker for a year to have their baby in secret, only to discover upon her return that Joker didn't even notice she'd been gone, much less that she'd been pregnant. Lucy is adopted by Harley's sister Delia and doesn't know that Harley is her biological mother until she's kidnapped in the sequel), but I love the concept so much that I've taken it as my headcanon. I've had Harley's TBWS subplot floating in my notes for a long time. In the original version of JvB, it went straight from that scene where John stabs Bruce to the conclusion. However, I realized at one point that I needed a better transition, and then Harley was like, "Ooh, ooh, I can help ya with that!" So I was glad to both find a home for her subplot and fix the JvB problem.


	80. Chapter 60

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Scene I forgot to include earlier (rough draft)**

Jack jerked awake with a scream, startling Peter. The older boy abandoned his pile of books to hug Jack, who was now sobbing in terror and confusion at finding himself unbound and unhurt on a soft bed in an unfamiliar room with a brother he'd been fully convinced was dead.

The little boy cried for a long time, panicking when anyone tried to approach and only allowing himself to be comforted by Peter and by Bear. Even after he finally stopped crying, he continued to huddle in Peter's arms as he stared around and chewed on a wad of blanket. _"Am I dead?"_ he finally whimpered in bird language.

 _"No. Big people steal us away to this good small house."_

 _"[chirp-chirp]?"_

 _"Gone."_

[ _warble_ ] hid his face against his flockmate for a while. [ _caw_ ], patient but bored, groomed his hair. _"[caw],"_ [ _warble_ ] finally said, _"Master chase me tie me."_ Peter growled. _"My TEETH! My teeth?!"_

 _"Bat took away sharp teeth."_

 _"Why?! Why?!"_ But he knew why. He was defenseless now, no weapons to protect himself from bad people trying to hurt him.

[ _caw_ ] wasn't bothered. He knew that you could make a weapon out of anything, and how much even boy-teeth could still hurt. _"Sharp teeth, not sharp, food is still good."_

 _"I want [chirp-chirp],"_ [ _warble_ ] wailed.

 _"[chirp-chirp] is dead."_

 _"I still want him!"_ He finally got up to explore, holding tight to Bear and to [ _caw_ ]'s hand. He shied away from the big people but looked for all the hiding places and the escape places. _"When will Master come?"_

 _"I don't know."_ [ _caw_ ] climbed onto a chair so he could reach the bananas. He liked bananas because they were so easy to eat. _"These are good."_ He gave one to his little flockmate and kept one for himself.

 _ **The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 60 (rough draft)**

He was flying. He hadn't flown in _so long_ , not for real, but now they were rushing rushing rushing and the wind was laughing around him and it wasn't high up but it went _on and on and on_ , so it was still good.

o.o.o.o.o

"I know it's clunky, but ya gotta protect your li'l baby lungs, honey." She promised she'd keep Batman's new little Robin-to-be safe, after all. John had been fine playing with Bud and Lou when Harley'd made a quick stop at her Gotham apartment to grab some stuff, and at the amusement park where he'd seemed more content to watch Harley have fun than have fun himself, and in Robinson Park to water Pamela's new rose experiment that Harley was supposed to look after while Ivy was in Arkham (she'd forgotten about it the past three nights, but the roses were still alive, so whoo!). No point in dropping the ball after they'd made it this far.

John finally consented to wear the mask once she put one on herself, and then he watched her spray-paint a purple line on the warehouse wall.

"Like that. Now you try." She handed him a can of yellow.

His little fingers, even if they hadn't been covered with gloves, weren't deft enough to hold down the nozzle, but he soon figured out how to hold the can with one hand and press the nozzle with his other palm. Yellow streaked awkwardly across the wall in front of him. He dropped the can in dissatisfaction and grabbed the red.

Harley smiled. "Now ya got it." She finished her painting of Wonder Woman stabbing Joker through the heart, not minding when the child, lavishing the wall with what looked like blood, rushed past her in his frenzy and slashed an arc of red over the corner of her work. No matter; Joker could do with an extra bleeding injury. "Time ta move on?"

He stared at her, his chest heaving, his eyes on fire.

"Let's do it."

They made their way through abandoned bits of town; her gleeful impulse was to paint up the shiniest, most braggy buildings, but the knowledge that that would let down Lucy's rescuer was just enough to rein her in. Maybe next time, when she wasn't with Batman's kid.

John's paintings went through the wild red of shed blood to solid black seas of despair. Harley's went from calling down vengeance on her ex to focusing on the joy of her recent freedom. She knew John was winding down when his body sagged, when he reached for different colors and slowly drew out purple and navy waves of grief.

"Okay, baby, I think we've had enough paintin'," she said, gently taking the colors out of his hands. He let her, his head hanging. "Let's go get us some chili dogs."

She drove them to her favorite little hole-in-the-wall. When she handed the boy his meal, it became immediately apparent that he was repulsed by meat, and he didn't seem too interested in the fries after having butler-cooked potatoes hours earlier. The giant chocolate chip cookie, however, seemed to perk him up a little, so she let him have hers as well. They ate on the diner's rooftop, Harley looking out over city, John at the stars.

" _crow_ "

"What's up, baby birdie?"

He pointed.

"Ya gonna hafta grow wings or be an astronaut ta get alla way up there, baby." She licked a bit of chili off the back of her hand.

"Mmamma. Ppa'ppà."

She studied him for a long moment. She looked out at the city again, at the endless string of cars moving up and down the streets, at the bright neon lights advertising lies, at the shadows that overlooked it all and lurked in all the spaces between. She glanced back at the little boy. "Come on, Johnnybird."

She drove to the bridge with the highest towers and broke into a service elevator. John accompanied her quietly, his hand lightly grasping hers. When they reached the top and the doors opened, he rushed out and stared up at the sky, turning slowly in awe.

"Pretty, huh?" she murmured, coming to stand beside him.

He looked at her. Then he looked away. He ambled off, and she trailed after him. He walked along the edge for a while, then hoisted himself up backwards and sat on the fence around the perimeter, smiling softly at her. She smiled back and hopped up to sit beside him. "Fearless li'l thing, aren'tcha. Like Nightwing; you an' him both act like you were born for heights."

They sat there for a while, watching the stars and idly kicking their feet as Harley made comfortable, one-sided conversation. John eventually stood up on the railing and ambled on again; Harley walked beside him, not making a second attempt to hold his hand when he pulled it away. "Wonder if Bats's got Lucy yet." She checked her phone. There were no messages from Batman, but there were 24 increasingly angry ones from Selina. "I'm gonna hafta apologize _real_ nice, wow..." She put the phone away again. "So you're vegetarian, huh? I know a couple a' those, maybe next time I'll ask 'em where they go for junk food..."

They reached the corner and turned. Harley continued her easy rambling; John remained silent and kept on pacing with perfect balance. They reached the second corner and turned.

"Didja know in some countries, people eat dogs? I mean, meat is meat an' all, but their little _faces_ , I could never eat somethin' so cuuuuute! Though, huh, I guess cows're kinda cute, now that I'm thinkin' 'bout it..."

At the third corner, John moved most of his body as if he meant to turn, but instead of bringing his left foot down in front of the other, he started to step off the fence instead, on the outside, where he would have plummeted to his death if Harley hadn't seized him and swung him down. "What the hell, don' just _step off_! Look!" She forced the now angrily crowing boy against the fence and pointed. " _Look_ , Johnny, ya see all that crap stickin' outta the tower?"

He stared, confused.

"Ya step off, you're gonna keep bouncin' against the tower all the way down, you'll _feel_ your body breakin' an' die in agony. Ya wanna fall off this thing? Be smarter about it." She swung herself up onto the fence and rushed down it until she halted just before the next corner. "Runnin' start, see? Then ya _jump_ ," she said, illustrating with her hands. "Get as far away from the tower as ya can 'fore ya head down, then it hurts less when ya die."

John was staring at her. Slowly, he climbed onto the fence again and stood. She stepped across to the other side, leaving his path to the corner clear, then sat down and gestured invitingly. He stared at her a moment longer.

Then his face hardened, and he _ran_. With his eyes fixed on the stars, he leaped off the top of the tower, making it an impressive distance out before he started to drop. The burst of laughter he cried out in that moment sounded joyous.

Harley shifted into a fanservice pose no one was around to see as she watched the boy's descent. She smiled. Then she dropped lightly off the fence, strolled over to the elevator, and rode it down to the ground.

When she stepped out, she headed over to where Red Robin was struggling to hold onto an absolutely _furious_ John and put his grapple gun away at the same time. "Harley!" the vigilante cried. "Are you-?!"

"Crazy?" she supplied.

"He could have _died_ , and you ENCOURAGED him!"

"Ya think I'd a' let him jump if we were alone?" she said indignantly. "I know you've been followin' us since the diner, prob'ly a lot longer'n that."

"Still! THIS IS NOT HOW YOU BABYSIT, HARLEY!"

"Sheesh; the kid's fine, ain't he?" she pouted. "Ya got any news on Lucy yet?"

"Batman's taking her home," Red Robin said shortly. "I haven't told him about this stunt yet, but when I do, he will _kill you_. Not literally. But almost. Almost literally, Harley Quinn."

"You guys're so _picky_." She looked at John, who stared at her with fury and betrayal in his eyes. The former didn't bother her, but the other did. "Johnny baby," she said as she approached, signing as she spoke, "listen to me. This town is full a' Bats, an' they never let anyone fall if they can help it. Ya wanna kill yourself? Here's what you do."

"Harley," Red Robin said sharply, but she kept on.

"First, ya gotta find yourself the baddest guy in town, an' I mean the _worst_ person you know. Ya get as close to him as you can, catch his attention, and then you _don't_ wanna die. 'Cause when ya want to, that takes all the fun out of it, see? They only wanna kill ya if you're desperate to live."

John had gone still and wide-eyed as he stared at her.

"Harley," Red Robin said, "I'm going to take him home. Seriously, you should probably not be around when Batman gets back."

"Long as Lucy's safe, I could care less." She gestured a casual goodbye. "See ya 'round, Johnnybird." A few minutes later, she was gone.

Red Robin looked down at John, who had gone very quiet and still. He looked at his own motorcycle. He didn't have all the gear he needed to make sure the boy would be as safe as possible on such a vehicle, and after snatching John out of a death plunge just minutes before, he didn't feel like risking his baby brother's safety a second time that night. "Guess we're taking the bus."

o.o.o.o.o

"Do you have a gun?"

"No."

Lucy sat in the passenger seat, lightly running her hand over various buttons and panels. "Aunt Harley said she was bringing the big guns. I think she meant you."

"Yes."

There was a gurgling sound. Lucy sheepishly put a hand over her stomach.

"What would you like to eat?" Batman asked, his eyes still on the road.

"We're gonna stop for food?"

"Yes."

"Really?!"

"Yes."

"Yay, I'm _starving_!" She thought a moment. "Can I have one of those apple pies from Bat Burger?"

"...You need protein."

"You sound like Mom."

"I'll get you a Bat-Mite Meal and a pie."

"Okay."

At the drive-thru window, the tired-looking twenty-something dressed like Red Hood abruptly stopped looking so tired when he realized who was sitting in the car outside.

"Don't worry, he's not kidnapping me!" Lucy assured him with a smile and a wave.

"Uhhhh...!" As he presumably rushed off to get the food, other employees started crowding around the window with their phones out. Batman stared stoically out the windshield with both hands on the steering wheel; Lucy beamed at the cameras as she flashed a victory sign. A bag of food was eventually handed out the window, and Batman drove away without a word.

"Mmm, dish ish goo'," Lucy commented as she bit into her burger.

Batman stuck a poison-test strip into the coffee he'd ordered, then picked up the cup and sipped through a straw. Lucy giggled. "They were really happy to get the real Batman at their Bat restaurant."

"Yes."

"Thanks for buying me dinner, Batman."

"You're welcome."

"And for saving me."

"I'm glad you're not hurt."

"Me, too." Lucy focused on finishing her food for a while.

As soon as the Batmobile came to a stop and the door opened, she clambered out and rushed to her adoptive mother, who was already running down the front steps. "Mom! Mom! Aunt Harley sent BATMAN! He busted their faces, it was awesome!"

"Lucy!" Delia Quinzel snatched up her daughter and hugged her tightly. "Oh, Lucy, Lucy..." The Batmobile drove away, its departure unnoticed.

"Is Aunt Harley here?"

"Yeah- Yeah, baby. Let's go inside," Delia said with a watery smile, gripping the little girl's hand tight. Lucy's already huge smile grew even wider when she saw Harley, and she ran into the woman's arms. Harley showered her daughter with kisses as Lucy giggled.

"Mmmm, love ya so _much_ , pumpkin! Batman treat ya good?"

"He bought me pie! And a burger, because he said I needed protein."

"He's a good guy," Harley murmured, nuzzling Lucy's temple.

Delia ruffled the girl's hair. "Come on, baby, let's get you to bed." Even though it was nearing dawn, both sisters curled up in bed with their child nestled safely between them and kept watch over her for hours as she slept.

TBC

 **A/N: Breezy art on AO3!  
**


	81. Chapter 61

_***PLEASE READ THIS CHAPTER ON AO3**_

 _The Birds Who Smile_ , a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Part 61 (rough draft)

Bruce was surprised to get home and find Tim and John in the Batcave, with neither Harley nor Selina anywhere in sight. Tim was working at the computer; John was curled up in a nearby chair, facing the opposite direction, his hand in his mouth. He watched Bruce approach with wide eyes, but didn't move.

"What happened?" Bruce asked warily as he pulled back his cowl, noting that the child wasn't wearing any of his protective gear and also that he wasn't doing anything at the moment to warrant it.

Tim finally turned to face him, taking a deep breath. "Okay. So. How much do you know already?"

"About?"

"You know. What John and Harley got up to while you were out."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "What did they get up to?"

Tim shifted uneasily. "Yeah, so, maybe don't kill Harley, because John's been weirdly good since she left; and also don't kill Selina, because I was on the phone with her all night while we were running around town trying to figure out where they went, and she honestly feels terrible that they escaped on her watch."

Even though John was obviously safe and sound, Bruce's blood was still running cold. "What do you mean 'escape'? Why was _Selina_ running around town?! What HAPPENED?!" He regretted his thunderous tone when John flinched.

"Bruce." Tim stood up. "He's fine. Everything's all good now. Okay?"

"Timothy."

"Bruce. Who are you planning to punch?"

Bruce forced himself to unclench his fists. "...I won't get angry. Please tell me."

Tim perched on the arm of John's chair and rested his arm across the top of it, the pose casual yet protective. "So Harley ran off with John while Selina was distracted - with the Robin Manual, I _told_ you that thing is way too long - and they basically did the Harley-Quinn-and-a-nine-year-old version of partying to blow off steam. I caught up with them at Robinson Park and decided to just stay out of sight and observe, since John seemed happier with her than he's been with any of us."

Bruce nearly choked at the unfairness of it.

"They eventually made their way to Trigate Bridge. John jumped off."

At the look on Bruce's face, John hid under Tim's cape.

"I caught him. It was fine. I was actually only, like, ten feet away by then because they were making me nervous walking around the edge like that. Anyway, so he jumped off, I caught him, Harley told him suicide is not the answer, and he's been like this ever since."

John peeked out to sign, _"I do not want to die."_

"You're not going to die," Bruce snapped. He turned away and paced in an agitated circle, scrubbing his hands through his hair in distress. Tim waited quietly. Bruce finally halted and demanded, "Did you check him over when you came here?"

"There's not a scratch on him, Bruce."

Bruce looked at John, who seemed frightened and resigned. Bruce was beginning to think that his child being afraid of him was worse than his child hating him. "When was the last time he ate?"

"Harley fed him a bunch of junk food."

"Are you staying the night?"

Tim barked out a laugh. "No, I just came to drop him off. Now that you're here and have my report, I'm leaving." He stood up, detached his cape, and gently draped the rest of it over John, who looked up at him pleadingly. "I'll see you later, Johnny," Tim murmured, stooping to kiss the top of his head. Then he moved past Bruce without a goodbye and donned a new cape before mounting his motorcycle and taking off.

Bruce looked at John, who shrank back into the chair but still was not screaming or attacking or trying to hurt himself. "...John, I need to change out of the suit, and I need you to stay in sight. Please come with me." When he approached the chair, John scrambled out of it. The boy continued to warily back away from his advance, and in that manner, he herded John toward the changing room.

"All right. Stay in this room. _Stay_." As he shed the Batsuit, John put his hand back in his mouth. Bruce didn't dare take a real shower, which would put him at a disadvantage if John turned wild and murderous again. He simply rinsed off the worst of the sweat, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being stared at while he did so. He had realized at one point that if the children had often been denied clothing, they probably had an eroded sense of their own and others' bodily privacy. That was something he would need to address, but not now, when it was a miracle John being quiet and non-destructive.

The boy continued to gently bite his own hand, exploring the sensation of having proper human teeth again.

Bruce finished in under a minute and put on a layer of armor, then some clothes. "All right. Thank you for waiting. We can go upstairs now." He stopped by the kitchen refrigerator and pulled out a nutrition shake, which he stuck a straw into and held out to John. After a long moment, the boy took it. Bruce pulled out a ready-made protein shake for himself. Man and boy watched each other silently as they drank.

A slurping sound finally indicated that John had finished his. "Give me the bottle, I'll rinse it out." Bruce had absolutely no idea why his shrieking, bloodthirsty demon of a son was now so subdued, but whatever the reason, it was a huge relief. John was skittish but fairly obedient, allowing himself to be guided up the stairs.

In the family's personal wing, Bruce paused. "John, we need to stay together tonight. I have to keep an eye on you. Would you like to sleep in your room, or in mine?"

After a long pause, John pointed.

"...All right. We will sleep in my room, but we will stop by yours first to get your things."

As soon as Elephant was offered to him, John grabbed it and hugged it tight. He followed when Bruce carried the rest to the master suite. "John, do you want a bath, yes or no?"

The boy did not answer.

"You do not have to take a bath right now, but you do have to change clothes." The ones John was wearing were covered with paint and grime from his night on the town with Harley.

Still no response. When Bruce finally reached to change him, John squeezed his eyes shut and started up a frightened keening sound, but didn't resist.

"I'm not going to hurt you...please stop that, John, I will not hurt you..."

John finally stood in clean pajamas, trembling a little, clutching Elephant tight.

"Johnny. Let's go brush your teeth, chum." The boy's teeth hadn't been cleaned in days. He stood miserably at the sink and would not hold the brush, but he didn't resist when Bruce very carefully tipped his head up and brushed his teeth for him, at least as well as he could when the boy kept clenching his jaws on the brush. Bruce sighed. "Okay, spit. ...Good boy." He handed over a paper cup of water. "No, don't drink it! Swish it in your mouth and then spit again, you know how to do this. You can have water to drink afterward."

John watched as Bruce brushed his own teeth, then scampered ahead of him back to the bedroom. He rushed immediately to the mattress that was still in the corner and stood on it, leaning back against the wall.

Bruce picked up the pile of picture books he had chosen at random from the children's room. "Which one do you want?" he asked, fanning them out.

John ducked his head and shifted Elephant a little higher to cover his mouth instead of answering.

Bruce looked at the book on top. He didn't recognize it, but it had insignias on it indicating that it had won awards. The picture on the front cover was of a dancer in a bright red costume that looke like something Dick and therefore John would like to wear. "I will choose if you don't want to choose."

He set the other books aside and turned the one with the dancer to face John. " _Firebird_ by Misty Copeland and Christopher Myers." He opened the book to the first page. _"[*censored because FFN is stupid*]..."_

Since John was still standing, Bruce awkwardly remained standing, too. _"_ _ _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_ "_

John showed no sign of enjoyment, but his eyes watched Bruce closely throughout the story, only occasionally flicking to the pictures.

 _"_ _ _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_ "_ Bruce closed the book. "The End."

John watched him.

"..." It didn't seem right to continue with _Peter Pan_ when the other children weren't present, and John didn't seem like he cared about being read to, anyway. Plus, Bruce was _tired_ from a lack of sleep the past few days and his recent rescue mission and the knowledge that he had a long vigil ahead, since he didn't dare sleep until he was sure John was asleep first. "Well. ...Good night, John." He pointed. "I will be working at my desk. You can sleep, but you don't have to. Just don't cause any damage, and let me know if you need anything."

He plugged in the night light and turned on his desk lamp, then switched off the overhead light. He sat down more heavily than he'd meant to and opened his laptop.

After a silent half hour, John finally sat down, still holding Elephant and watching Bruce closely. Bruce continued to work. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, but he forced himself to keep typing and reading. He had to stay vigilant; John's mood could change from docile to belligerent at any moment. ...He really hoped that John fell asleep soon.

o.o.o.o.o

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] sat in the not-dark. The little light and Master's small light were glowing soft, the sun was trying to peek through the curtains. Master sat asleep in his chair, his nose making sleepy growls, his whole body saying _"Tired tired sad tired."_ Maybe it was pretend sleep, or mabe it was real sleep. It didn't matter.

They kept saying the gentle and safe would be forever. He thought they were wrong, but he had done everything he could to make Master break, and Master hadn't done it. Either they were right and Master was not Master, or [ _chirp-chirp_ ] would never, ever win.

The pink-and-blue woman with poisoned too-white skin, she was right. Master would not kill little birds who _wanted_ to die, because that was not fun. And he would not kill [ _chirp-chirp_ ] who wanted to live, because [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was his favorite and it was more fun to hurt [ _chirp-chirp_ ] than kill him. He always won. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] always lost. Always. _Always_. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] couldn't win, so all he could do was be sad.

...Or be happy.

...

Master was being Daddy right now. Maybe they were right and Master was dead and Daddy was gentle forever. Maybe they were wrong and Daddy would Laugh and be Master again.

If that happened, [ _chirp-chirp_ ] would hurt and fight again. ...Yes. He could never escape, he lost, so he belonged to Batman. If Batman was Daddy, that was okay. If Batman was Master, [ _chirp-chirp_ ] would fight again. But he would not fight Daddy anymore - he was _tired_.

He took his feathers off. Feathers were for warm and safe, and he didn't know if he was safe, so he took them off. He went to the window, through the crack in the curtains, and looked out at the sun and the grass and the trees that were pretty and happy. _'Mamma,'_ he thought. _'Papà.'_ His father who loved him so much, his mother who loved him so much, they were dead now. They had been dead for a long time, they couldn't help him or love him anymore. He missed them so so so so so so much.

 _"Mamma. Papà."_ He spoke to them in bird words and hand words, because mouth words were too hard now. _"Goodbye. I love you. Goodbye."_ They were his old flock, them and Zitka and Pop Haly and all the others, and [ _trill_ ]. He had a new flock now, if [ _caw_ ] or [ _warble_ ] or any of Batman's flockmates were still alive like they said.

Even if they weren't, there was still Elephant and Daddy. [ _chirp-chirp_ ]'s old self and his old flock were dead; he had to be with his new flock, he had to be a new self. _'...Goodbye, Dick,'_ he told the little boy who had been taken away from his burning home and then hurt and hurt and hurt until he turned into a bird. _"Goodbye. Rest. I will be strong for us now."_

Behind him, Batman stirred, and he flinched. Batman was waking up. He heard Batman's footsteps coming, and he pressed against the window and shook, trying so hard not to look back.

He couldn't look back. Looking back would mean he was still fighting, but he couldn't fight anymore, because he had given up. He was naked and alone with this man, and now he would know. If this man was Master, he would be pleased and tie [ _chirp-chirp_ ] and maybe hurt him. If this man was Daddy, then he would be upset and cover [ _chirp-chirp_ ] up again, because he liked for his bird [ _chirp-chirp_ ]- he liked for his human boy _John_ to be covered and warm and safe. Now he would know-

Hands. Big hands touching him, pulling him away from the window, [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was so afraid, but they were gentle hands. They were Daddy's hands, pulling feathers- _clothes_ over his skin, warm and safe. Big hands not hurting him. These were Daddy's hands, and they were not touching a bird, they were touching a boy named John. Batman still had his Daddy face, worried and tired and not Smiling at all.

"John, please keep your clothes on."

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] couldn't say it with anything but his body, so he did. _"I give me. What will you do with me?"_

"No, John. ~~ you hungry? ~~ you thirsty?"

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] was going to say no, but then he realized that his mouth was dry. _"Thirsty,"_ he said with his hands.

Daddy went away into the water room. He came back with a cup. There was water in it, very clean, and when [ _chirp-chir_ \- when John drank it, it was cold and good.

He went to lie down on Daddy's nest- his bed. He would sleep close to Daddy, and if he woke up because Master was hurting him or tying him, he would know-

Daddy didn't come to his own bed. He went to sit in the chair and make click-click-clack sounds again.

John frowned and went to try to climb into Daddy's lap, but Daddy pushed him away (gently). "~~ you're ~~ tired, John, you ~~ sleep ~~ more. You're safe."

 _"I will sleep close to you,"_ John said with his body. But when Daddy led him to the bed and pushed him down gently, he didn't lie down, too. He covered John with a blanket and sat on the edge and started to sing, moving his fingers through John's feath- his hair, and that felt good. Master never sang like this, only Daddy. This was good.

John liked anything Daddy sang, but there were two he liked best. One was the _"I'm sorry I made you cry"_ song, and one was the _"Sshh, my precious one, you are safe"_ song. John wanted the second one, so he whistled it.

Daddy sighed _"I am uncomfortable"_ but sang the right song, anyway. _"_ _ _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_..."_

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] woke up. ...John, not [ _chirp-chirp_ ]. He had fallen asleep while Daddy sang, but it was all right, because nothing bad had happened. Daddy was sleeping on the other side of the room and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was here in Daddy's big nest and his whole body, nothing hurt at all.

Something beeped and Daddy jerked awake. He looked like he thought he'd been tied, but he wasn't. He looked around and then at [ _chir_ \- at John. They stared at each other for a while.

John lay back on the feathers- on the blankets. He couldn't believe it. Tears were coming and coming out of his eyes, and he didn't know why because it was _still Daddy_ , not Master. Master was gone. Daddy who loved little ones was here. The bird-who-was-a-boy-again had slept here in this bed with no flockmates, no _brothers_ to guard him, but he wasn't naked, he wasn't hurt or tied, he was warm and covered and...he was...safe.

o.o.o

Around noon, Bruce dragged himself off the divan because John seemed to be up for good this time. The boy chirped at and petted elephant, then approached Bruce, who stepped out of reach. "Good morning, John."

 _"Good morning, Batman."_

"John, listen to me, this is very important: you can't call me Batman when anyone who's not family is watching. It's better not to get in the habit, so please just call me 'B.'" He went over it again until John made the correct sign for the letter. "Good. Try it again." He demonstrated.

 _"...Good morning, B."_

"Very good. Good job." He still couldn't risk a shower, so he gave himself a sponge bath, trying once again to ignore being watched. Halfway through, he couldn't take it anymore and wrapped a towel around his waist. "All right, John, listen, it's not good to stare at people when they're naked, or using the toilet. You shouldn't watch other people, and no one should watch you like that, either." He gave the boy a sensory toy as a distraction, which half worked - John still sort of eyed him sideways, but kept getting sidetracked by the toy's soft blinking lights and squishy texture.

"All right, John," Bruce said when he was as clean as he could get and dressed for the day. "Do you want to keep wearing those pajamas, or do you want to change into fresh clothes?"

The boy hesitated for a long time. _"Clothes."_

"All right. Let's go to your room, and you can pick out what you want to wear."

Once John was attired in a pair of yellow short shorts with white polka dots, a sequined tank top, and his fringed jacket, Bruce led him down to the kitchen and then looked around apprehensively. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a protein shake for himself. "John, would you like one of the meals Alfred left for us?"

John crept close and studied the contents of the refrigerator. "Hhmmmah," he finally said.

"You want hummus?"

"Hhmmah."

"All right." Bruce toasted some bagels, brought them over to the table, and cut them up into bite-sized pieces as John watched in anticipation. He dipped a butter knife into the container of hummus and spread it over the first bagel bit before reaching over. John seized it almost before it even touched his plate and crammed it into his mouth. Bruce felt his eyes stinging with actual tears at the sight of his son _eating_.

He put another bit of hummus-and-bagel onto John's plate, then another. When he started to do the same with a fourth, he frowned when John reached for it, and pulled back. John glared at him, mouth so stuffed with food that he could barely work his jaws to chew it.

"Finish what you have, and then I'll give you more," Bruce said, setting the piece of bagel on his own unused plate instead.

" _crow_ " John pouted, his voice muffled.

Bruce got a few more bagel pieces ready with hummus by the time John had swallowed his current mouthful. Bruce put one of them on the boy's plate. "Finish that first, and then I will give you more." He sipped at his shake.

After a while, once all the bagel pieces were ready and John was working on his current bite, Bruce pulled out his phone and started recording. "John."

The boy looked at him.

"Are you eating right now?"

 _"Eat."_

"Yes. And you are not screaming or throwing things or trying to hurt anyone."

 _"More please."_

Bruce, still filming, set another bite on his plate. "Johnny, would you like to say something to Dick?"

"Ddi'ckk."

"Or Peter and Jack? What would you like to say to the people who are watching this video?"

 _"[caw] [warble] I love you miss you,"_ John twittered.

"You are being very good today, John. If you keep behaving like this, maybe you can see your brothers again." _'And...maybe I won't have to pretend to die after all...'_

 _"More please."_

Bruce gave him another bagel bit, hesitated, then started to reach for the boy. John startled away. Bruce jerked back in response, but before he could completely withdraw, John's shoulders relaxed slightly and he caught hold of Bruce's hand, setting it on his head. Bruce caressed his hair gently. John's eyes drifted half-closed and he hummed in pleasure. Then he pushed Bruce's hand away. _"More please."_

"All right." Bruce looked at his son: chewing on a bite of bread and hummus, a mask scar shadowing his eyes and a whip scar slashed up his cheek, long hair growing black at the root of all the green, eyes slightly distant as he entertained his own thoughts during the pause. "...Johnny. I love you." _'So much. I love you so much I can't stand it. I would do anything for you.'_

"Bbboosse," John acknowledged solemnly. Then, _"I want apple."_

"All right, let me find one for you." Bruce stopped recording and then, not allowing himself to have any second thoughts, sent the video to everyone else who loved his birds. Then he put his phone away and went to find an apple for his son.

o.o.o.o.o

John ate and ate and ate. He ate until he started looking a sick, until, even though he kept asking for food, he stared heavily at each bite and looked like he was forcing himself to eat it, chewing slowly and grimacing.

"John," Bruce finally said, not handing over the next requested bite, "you look like you're finished eating."

 _"Hungry."_

"No, I don't think you're hungry anymore."

John stared at his plate for a long time, looking like he was about to cry. Then he stood up as if preparing for his own execution and signed, _"Seatbelt."_

Bruce swallowed. "John..." He knelt and gently set his hands on the boy's shoulders. "We will have to practice with seatbelts eventually, but not today. I know you're very tired and anxious, so no seatbelts today. We can just relax."

"..."

"...Let's go brush our teeth, and then we can play or watch whatever you want."

They spent about an hour wandering slowly through the gardens, John gently touching colorful blossoms, Bruce just drinking in the sight of his child being...not happy, exactly, but not a hopeless, dangerous mess, either. He took some more videos and photos, particularly pleased with one of John cooing at a ladybug that had come to rest on his arm.

They finally went inside. Bruce put on the movie John asked for, then stared in amazement when the little boy got off the couch, went to Bruce's chair, and climbed into his lap. Bruce reached to stroke his hair; the boy flinched and grabbed Bruce's hand, pulling it around to rest on John's stomach. The boy folded his arms on top of Bruce's as if to hold the hug in place.

 _'He wants my hands where he can see them,'_ Bruce realized.

They sat quietly for a while, John watching the movie and Bruce watching John. The boy had shed his jacket while playing in the gardens, and the tank top didn't hide as many of the scars. Bruce couldn't take his eyes away from those cruel marks. "Johnny," Bruce whispered, "What that man did to you was terrible. It was so wrong, John. It was _wrong_."

John shifted to look up at him. Bruce gently disengaged his hand to point at a scar without touching it. "What he did to you to make this...and this, and this, all of them...he was wrong. It makes me so angry, I want to hurt him for hurting you."

 _"...I am not bad, I am good, but Bad Laugh Man hurt good me. I am_ _angry_ _, I hurt good you. You are not angry, you are sad, you do not hurt me. Gentle. Why does bad man hurt good boy, why are you not angry at me who hurt you?!"_

"I don't know why he hurt you. He's evil and I hate him. I will not hurt you because, no matter how much you hurt me, it is wrong for adults to hurt children. He was wrong, but I am not him. I want you to be safe and happy. I will do my best to make sure you grow up safe and happy, chum."

John shifted upright. He put his arms around Bruce's neck and said into his ear, "Cccall mme sssswee'tt bbird."

"What?"

"Ssswee't bbird. Ccall mme."

"...Is that what...is that what _he_ called you?"

"Yysss."

"No. Johnny, no, I can't call you that."

"Ccall mme sswee't bbird. Ccall mme sswee't-"

"Please."

"Plllease, Ddaddy."

Bruce shut his eyes and held his son close. "...Sweet bird."

The boy shivered.

"John-"

"Mmmore. Mmore, plllease."

"...Sweet bird," Bruce whispered. "I love you, sweet bird. I love you. He is gone forever, I will never let anyone hurt you again, sweet bird. You're _my_ sweet bird, not his. I'd do anything to make you happy, chum."

John hummed. "Iii amm Bboosse' sswee't bbird ssshh'chumm, Ii nno [ _crow_ ], Ii, I amm Jjjohnnny." He pulled away so he could sign, _"It's too hard to talk!"_

"It's all right. You did well, chum. You did very well."

 _"I am not Bad Laugh Man's bird."_

"That's right."

 _"I am strong and good."_

Bruce kissed the side of his head. "You are a miracle, Johnny."

"Ha ha ha, Bba'dd Lllaff Mman, I wwin."

TBC

A/N: Man, not only did I have to re-write the entire "John vs. Bruce" arc from scratch, even the conclusion went through some heavy re-writes (I posted the original version in the deleted scenes, since there were some things I liked in there that I couldn't salvage). I don't think I'll ever write far future scenes out of order again, at least for long fics; it's crazy how much things change by the time I finally get to it chronologically!

All right, so there's probably going to be one chapter of aftermath, then I want to try to take another short hiatus - partly to figure out what the next story arc is and re-organize my notes, partly to work on a certain crossover that Breezy and I have both been excited about (it'll probably be a series of random one-shots and vignettes that will not have internal consistency), and also partly because I've been falling behind on real life stuff. X'''D I might still be picking at TBWS a bit *daydreams about editing the sixty chapters I've posted so far*, but after the next chapter, I think I need a break for about 2-4 weeks. (And now that I've made this speech, watch me throw it all out the window and post chapter 63 in a few days. *facepalm*)

 _ **The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Deleted scene: The original version of the "John vs. Bruce" conclusion (rough draft)**

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] lay there in the not-dark. The little light was glowing soft, his flockmates were sleeping safe beside him, warm blankets covered them, Bossy was reading. Guarding, but relaxed.

...Safe. Quiet. Everything was safe and quiet. They said it would be this way forever. He thought they were wrong, but he had done everything he could to make Master break, and Master hadn't done it. Either they were right and Master was not Master, or [ _chirp-chirp_ ] had to lose. On purpose.

He climbed out of the nest.

"Grayson, ~~ back ~~ bed."

No. No bed, no safe. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] had to know.

"Grayson!" Hands on him, small hands, but strong; pulling him, it hurt a little. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] tried to keep going, but it hurt him, fighting against those hands. So he let Bossy push him back onto the bed. When Bossy let go, he got up again. "Stop that!"

Bossy pushed him. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] let him. Bossy let go. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] got up. Bossy was angry and frustrated. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was angry and frustrated, too, but he knew he couldn't beat Bossy, so he let Bossy do what he wanted, and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] did what _he_ wanted whenever he could.

Finally, Bossy didn't stop him. Bossy put his 'phone' to the side of his head and complained into it and followed [ _chirp-chirp_ ] when he left the good safe room and went to the bad one.

It was very dark inside, except for the blue light by Master's face. Master was talking to his phone, too. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was too frightened to move, but then Master put down the phone, and the small cold blue light went away, and he turned on the bigger light by the bed, and it was a warm yellow light. Master still had his Daddy face, worried and tired and not Smiling at all.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] could move now. He went to his nest in the corner and lay in it. He was frightened to be here without his flockmates, so he cried.

Master's heavy footsteps, coming closer and closer. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] would not look back, he was losing this game, Master would do whatever he wanted and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] wouldn't stop him, but he still had to curl up and cover his head because he was so afraid.

"John, ~~~ all right?"

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] waited. He waited.

Master spoke, but it was Bossy he spoke to. Bossy went away. Master...pulled the feathers up over [ _chirp-chirp_ ]'s body. He went away, too, to his own nest, and it was very, very quiet.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] woke up. He was frightened because he was alone, then he remembered that he had left his flock on purpose. He had come to lose, to give himself to Master and see what Master did with him.

He could hear Master breathing, but he couldn't see him, so he turned around and Master was asleep in his own big nest. The light by his bed was still on.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] didn't know why he was crying now. Nobody was hurting him, there was nothing to be afraid of, but water was pouring out of his eyes and he felt like he was dying.

Master woke up. Master stood tall. Master started coming for him.

 _'Don't hide,'_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] told himself. _'You belong to Master. You came to see what he will do with you, so you can't run or hide.'_

Still the Daddy face. Still. "Johnny, _please_. What's wrong? Why are you crying, Johnny? Why did you come here?"

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] couldn't say it with anything but his body, so he did. _"I give me. What will you do with me?"_

Master covered him again. He sat there and sang to him, and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] loved that voice, he hated that he loved that voice but it was so beautiful, and Master never sang to him like that. When this person sang to him in that voice, he couldn't be Master, he could only be Daddy.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] woke up. He had fallen asleep while Da- While the man...while Bruce sang. But it was all right, because nothing bad had happened, Bruce was sleeping there and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was here in his nest and his whole body, nothing hurt at all.

He took his feathers off. Feathers were for warm and safe, and he didn't know if he was safe, so he took them off. He went to the window, with the night and the grass and the trees that were pretty and happy. _'Mamma,'_ he thought. _'Papà.'_ His father who loved him so much, his mother who loved him so much, they were dead now. They had been dead for a long time, they couldn't help him or love him anymore. He missed them so so so so so so much. _'Mamma. Papà. Goodbye. I love you. Goodbye.'_ They were his old flock. He had a new flock now. His old self and his old flock was dead; he had to be with his new flock, he had to be a new self. _'...Goodbye, Dick.'_

Behind him, Master stirred, and he flinched. Master was waking up. He heard Master's footsteps coming, and he pressed against the window and shook, trying so hard not to look back. He couldn't look back. Looking back would mean he was still fighting, but he couldn't fight anymore, because he had given up. He was naked and alone with this man, and now he would know. If this man was Master, he would be pleased and tie [ _chirp-chirp_ ] and hurt him. If this man was Daddy, then he would be upset and cover [ _chirp-chirp_ ] up again, because he liked for his bird [ _chirp-chirp_ ]- he liked for his human boy _John_ to be covered and warm and safe. Now he would know-

Hands. Big hands touching him, [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was so afraid, but they were gentle hands. They were Daddy's hands, pulling feathers- _clothes_ over his skin, warm and safe. Big hands not hurting him. These were Daddy's hands, and they were not touching a bird, they were touching a boy named John.

"John, why ~~ sleep?" Daddy's voice was upset.

[ _chirp-chi_ \- John looked at him. Daddy was hurt that he couldn't take care of his small one, that he couldn't make his small one happy. John couldn't be happy, but he could be warm and safe so that Daddy wouldn't look so worried and upset anymore.

"~~ you hungry? ~~ you thirsty?"

John was going to say no, but then he realized that his mouth was dry. _"Thirsty,"_ he said with his hands.

Master- Daddy went away into the water room. He came back with a cup. There was water in it, very clean, and when John drank it, it was cold and good.

He went to lie down on Daddy's nest- his bed. He would sleep close to Daddy, and if he woke up because Master was hurting him or tying, him, he would know-

Daddy didn't come to his own bed. He lay down on John's bed.

John frowned and went to sleep with Daddy, but Daddy pushed him away (gently). "You ~~ sleep ~~ your ~~ bed, John."

 _"I will sleep close to you,"_ John said with his body. But Daddy went away to his bed, and when John followed, Daddy went back to John's bed, and then he knew Daddy refused to sleep with him.

Well...that was okay. They didn't have to sleep in the same bed. If John woke up and Master was hurting him, he would know; and if he woke up and Daddy was not hurting him, he would know. It didn't have to be the same bed.

He closed his eyes. When he woke up, the sun was shining and Daddy was in the water room, and John looked down at himself and his body was not hurt or bleeding. He was warm, and...he was...safe.

o.o.o.o.o

Bruce, out of the corner of his eye, noticed John coming up to him, and he whirled defensively.

John looked a little taken aback. _"...I want to hug you."_

"Do you _really_ want a hug, or are you going to hit me or bite me or stab me again?"

 _"I did bad things. I am very sorry. Please hug me, and then you can be angry and yell at me."_

"I'm not angry. Come here." Bruce opened his arms, figuring that he could take whatever his troubled son intended to dish out this time.

At last, however, it seemed to be genuine. John clung to him for a long time, then pulled back, studying how tense and wary his father still was. _"You are...afraid of me...?"_

"Maybe a little," Bruce admitted. "You can pack quite a punch when you want to."

John sat there for a while, absorbing this.

Bruce gently cradled the boy's bruised wrists. "I'm so sorry for this, John. It was wrong of me to hurt you. I'm very sorry."

John smiled a little. _"Didn't hurt."_

"A parent should never leave marks like this on his child, _never_."

"Bbboosse." John lifted his shirt, not to take it off this time, but to display the scars that riddled his body from old beatings.

"What he did to you was terrible. It was so wrong, John. It was _wrong_."

 _"I didn't do anything bad to him, but he ripped me apart. I hurt you as bad as I could, but all you did was yell and get sad. Then you were nice to me again. You're crazy, Dad."_

"Not the first time someone's called me crazy," Bruce murmured, pulling his son into another hug. "I love you, John."

John squirmed into a more comfortable position. He put his arms around Bruce's neck and said into his ear, "Cccall mme ssssweet bbird."

"What?"

"Sssweet bird. Ccall me."

"...Is that what...is that what _he_ called you?"

"Yysss."

"No. Johnny, no, I can't call you that."

"Ccall me ssweet bird. Ccall me ssweet-"

"Please."

"Plllease, Ddaddy."

Bruce shut his eyes and held his son close. "...Sweet bird."

The boy shivered.

"John-"

"Mmmore. Mmore, plllease."

"...Sweet bird," Bruce whispered. "I love you, sweet bird. I love you. He is gone forever, I will never let anyone hurt you again, sweet bird. You're _my_ sweet bird, not his. I'd do anything to make you happy, chum."

John hummed. "Iii am...nnnot bbird. I am hhhuman. Iii am Bbooss' ssweet bbird ch-chum, I nno [ _crow_ ] c-crrrow, I, Iii am...I amm...Dddick. Ddick Grrraysson, Mmamma an' Ppapà... Ii am Jjohn Dddick Wwwayne." He pulled away so he could sign. _"It's so hard to talk!"_

"It's all right. You did well, chum. You did well."

 _"I am not what he wanted me to be."_

"That's right."

 _"My new family makes me strong, you and Grandpa [big chirp-chirp] [caw] [warble] and everyone I love, you make me strong and happy."_

Bruce kissed the side of his head. "You and your siblings make me happy, too, Johnny."

"Yysss. Ha ha ha ha ha, Bbad Llaugh Mman, I wwin."


	82. Chapter 62

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Scene I forgot to include in the previous chapter (rough draft)**

Bruce's phone purred. He checked it to find a news article that had been sent to him about a long-lost golden cat statue being mysteriously returned to the museum it had been stolen from years ago. He gritted his teeth and put his phone away without replying, ignoring the apology for now. The risks Harley had taken with John's safety hadn't been Selina's fault, and everything had worked out unimaginably well in the end, but he still couldn't forgive either of them yet.

 _ **The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Part 62 (rough draft)**

Well into the afternoon, Bruce's phone started pinging with a large quantity of notifications, yet the house remained quiet and undisturbed. He was glad when John asked for the bubbles in his room, since that would give him a better vantage point to see what was going on. Bruce moved to stand near the window as he blew bubbles so that he could look down into the front yard.

Gathered there was almost his entire family, joined by half the Titans and the Justice League (all as civilians, thankfully). Dick was sitting on the edge of the fountain with his head in his hands, Wally and Donna cuddled close on either side, Garth and Lilith hovering nearby, as Clark crouched and spoke to him. Tim was sitting on the hood of his car, working on a tablet, with Jack clinging to him and Diana petting the child affectionately. Damian was trying to calm down a very excited Titus while Peter, watched over by Cassandra and Duke, climbed on Goliath. Kori was hugging an upset-looking Stephanie; Alfred was gesturing as he spoke to Victor and Simon.

John stopped happily chasing bubbles when he realized that Bruce was distracted. He trotted over to look out the window.

"John, wait-"

At the sight of his brothers, the boy started shrieking in urgent excitement, prying at the window. Down below, everyone looked up at the noise.

"John, _wait_!" Bruce struggled to open the window with one hand while keeping his other arm wrapped firmly around his son's waist. Just when he lifted the pane, Clark came floating up.

"Do you need help?" the Kryptonian asked anxiously. "I mean-"

"Just make sure he doesn't fall off the roof," Bruce said through gritted teeth, releasing John so he could properly raise the window the rest of the way. Clark managed to catch John when the boy made a leap for his brothers two stories below.

Down on the ground, the youngest children were shrieking frantically at the sight of their brother. Jack was standing on the hood of the car, his little fists gripping Tim's hair and shirt collar as he cried out to John (Tim was trying not to choke). Peter scrambled off the dragon-bat far too quickly; Cass managed to catch him before he hit the ground. With all three children so clearly desperate for each other, Diana took Jack and Kori caught up Peter, starting to rise up to Clark, who was coming to meet them with John in his arms. Little hands stretched out, all three straining to reach across the remaining distance.

"No, go _down_!" Bruce called in exasperation, gesturing. Metas might think nothing of a midair reunion, but Bruce wanted his three flightless, overexcited birds safely on solid ground.

A minute later, the children were tumbling on the grass, John screaming joyfully, Peter shouting, Jack sobbing as he clung to them. John did not seem to be able to contain his excitement, leaping and dancing in between hugs; Peter had to keep chasing after him. English and bits of ASL flowed in and out of what was mostly ardent twittering.

 _"Not dead, not dead, not dead...!"_

 _"[CHIRP-CHIRP] IS ALIVE NOW, [CHIRP-CHIRP] IS ALIVE?!"_

 _"Yes yes yes I am so HAPPY HAPPY good happy so good this love joy [crow]...!"_

 _"BAT BAT he kill bad blood-!"_

 _"No no no~~"_

 _"[chirp-chirp]! [chirp-chirp]!"_

 _"BAT IS RIGHT THERE STUPID [CHIRP-CHIRP]!"_

 _"(happy~~) No Master gone Master gone gone gone yes GOOD-"_

 _"Master is right there I am so scared!"_

 _"Ssshh calm peace safe [warble] that I love love love forever, yes good; Master GONE!"_

 _"What?! What?!"_

 _"[caw] is right good; Master is Daddy Master gone, Daddy won, Daddy won-"_

 _"[CHIRP-CHIRP]!"_

 _"[chirp-chirp]?!"_

 _"Sshh calm peace safe flockmates that I love, my good [caw] my good [warble], [chirp-chirp] is gone safe dead. Jjjohnnny is alive good happy~"_

 _"BATMAN HE IS BATMAN HE IS BATMAN NOT DADDY!"_

 _"That man Bbboosse Batman, two faces, Bad Laugh Man is gone, Daddy is smiling not Smiling, Daddy loves good birds give my good precious little ones back to me, [big chirp-chirp] Grandpa all flockmates big people all ALL ALIVE GOOD YES...!"_

By the time the children had finally calmed down, John sitting contentedly on the grass, mutually hugging Jack as Peter stood with his arms around John and growled protectively, more than one of the adults were brushing away tears.

"This is so surreal," Stephanie murmured.

"I can't believe he's happy," Dick said faintly, clutching his chest (Tim was absently rubbing at his own chest as well). "Like, I can _feel_ it, in my heart, John is freaking _happy_..."

"I suggest we move indoors," Alfred spoke up. "Any further super-powered antics are more discreet when not performed on the front lawn."

On the way inside and in the house, so many relieved, overjoyed people hugged John that he preened, _"Everybody loves me."_

"Johnny!" Dick yelled when it was his turn, "You _stink_!" Although attempts had been made to clean the boy, especially during the times he'd been unconscious, John hadn't bathed properly in about a week. "Let's go, I am throwing you in the shower!" He hoisted the child up into his arms; John, half-hanging over his shoulder, reached out for his little brothers, who anxiously rushed after them.

As everyone milled around, a few people heading to the kitchen to help Alfred, Clark frowned and looked around the room. "Typical..."

He had to follow the sound of Bruce's heartbeat to find him in the Batcave. "Bruce."

"Clark," Bruce grunted, not bothering to look up as he continued lifting weights.

"Why aren't you up there with everyone else? It looks like there might be an impromptu party in the works."

"You don't need me for that. Peter and Jack are still afraid of me, it's better I keep out of their way for now."

"For God's sake, Bruce," Clark complained, sighing deeply. After a moment, he went over to lift the entire weight rack and start doing reps with it, careful to keep it balanced. When Bruce paused to glare at him, Clark grinned back. "Is this bothering you?"

"...Screw you, Kent." Bruce put down the dumbbells and lay back on the exercise bench he'd been sitting on, throwing an arm over his eyes. Clark set down the weight rack, and there was a long silence.

"I'm glad to see John doing better," Clark finally ventured.

"I'm so tired."

Clark waited.

Bruce finally drew in a deep breath and sat up again. "Why do I keep taking in children?! Raising them is _difficult_! John _finally_ doesn't hate me, but what about his brothers? He's already accomplished so much more than anyone should ever expect of a child, yet there are so many more hurdles he has yet to overcome! This week nearly killed me; I can't do it again. But there are twelve more years of this, twelve more years of trying not to hurt the children my bastard other self destroyed, when my track record with the older ones has always been terrible; why does this keep happening?! Why do all these brilliant, beautiful children keep coming to me when I'm the last person in the world who deserves them?!" He covered his eyes with his hand, not wanting to hear any response.

It was a long time before Clark finally said, "Bruce, can you live without them?"

"No," Bruce said immediately, the word falling out of his mouth without any conscious thought.

"Then I think you'll do all right, old friend."

Bruce stayed down in the cave for hours, taking solace in the quiet darkness and the work. Clark soon left, but it wasn't long before Diana and Tim came down. They talked for a while, and then Tim got sucked into a project Bruce was working on, so Diana returned to the party that was now in full swing upstairs. Cassandra, Stephanie, and Kori eventually came down to retrieve Tim, and ended up staying for a while. Cass and Steph perched on the arms of Bruce's chair, Cass combing his hair with her fingers and Stephanie putting it into little braids.

"Your hair's all greasy, Bruce."

"I spent the past two days trying not to get killed by a crazed nine-year-old," Bruce grumbled. "Washing my hair was not a high priority." Though now that they'd brought it up, the physically scummy feeling wouldn't stop bothering him, so he finally went to shower. When he came out again, Cassandra, Tim, and Stephanie were gone, but Dick, Wally, Victor, and Donna were now talking to Kori, the five of them lounging around like they were in the Titans Tower common room rather than blocking access to all the Batcomputer workstations.

"Get out of my chair," Bruce said, grasping the back of the one Dick was sitting in.

His eldest son lolled his head to grin up at him. "Hello to you, too, Dad."

Bruce hated it whenever he forgot to use basic courtesy with people he cared about a lot, but with all the outsiders watching, he couldn't show weakness by apologizing. "Out. I'm in the middle of something."

"There's a party happening in your house, you shouldn't be in the middle of anything except having fun," Dick said, shifting into a ridiculously flexible sprawl that looked more natural for a cat than a human.

"Why aren't you and your friends at the party, then?" Bruce challenged.

"We are, how do you say it, 'catching up,'" Kori said, and smiled wistfully at the others. "It has been a long time since we were all on the same team."

"Too long," Donna agreed.

"I've missed you guys," Victor said. "The Justice League isn't _nearly_ as fun." He gestured at Bruce. "Probably because we've got Batman."

"Why do you think I never joined the League as anything other than Batman?" Nightwing laughed. Then, in response to Bruce's slightly offended frown, "There are other reasons. But that's one of them. I like working with friends better than-" he altered his voice to sound gruff and stuffy, "- _coworkers_."

Bruce wanted to argue that Clark and Diana and the others _were_ his friends, but, again, outsiders. Besides, he knew what Dick meant. Unlike with the Titans, the members of the Justice League were allies first, friends second, and in some cases, not even friends at all. In contrast, the membership of Titans who failed to form affectionate bonds with the group never lasted long.

"So when are we gonna see you upstairs, Batman?" Wally asked.

"Just because the party is being held in my house doesn't mean I have to be present for it."

Dick looked like he wanted to wheedle, but Kori, to everyone's surprise, came up and took Bruce's hand. "If the little John was causing as much trouble as you say, Dick, I think your father must be very tired now. It is better to let him rest."

"Introvert thing," Victor agreed.

Bruce said nothing, but he felt grateful.

"All right," Dick murmured.

"Dick," Donna spoke up, "are _you_ okay? It must have been really bad for you to show up at the Tower in such bad shape."

"Well, I mean, being sick definitely didn't help, but it's okay now." Dick laid a hand over his heart. "It's so weird. Like, I can't feel him at the moment, but before..." He glanced up at his father. "Bruce, I think we must be connected with our counterparts somehow. When their feelings are really strong, it's like... Like, this past week, I felt _awful_ , even after I stopped being sick, it felt like my heart was churning. I was so upset, I'd get angry for stupid reasons or start crying for no reason at all-"

"He totally had PMS," Donna said, nodding.

Dick made a face at her. "Anyway, then it finally went away. And then today when the kids saw each other again, I could feel _that_ , too. Just, this... _joy_ blazing in my chest, so intense it almost hurt- I can feel him, sometimes."

"I've suspected it for a while now," Bruce murmured. "That night when- With the cliff... Something Tim said when he was drugged, it was like he sensed how frightened Jack was. If I hadn't heard that, I...wouldn't..." He couldn't finish the sentence. He wouldn't have made it in time, he would not have reached his little birds soon enough to save them, he would have found his precious nine-year-old son broken and lifeless on the rocks.

"I sense experiments in the near-future," Victor stage-whispered.

Bruce sighed. "Not soon. It's not a high priority right now, I need to focus on getting the children legally established so they can start receiving services." By this time, an increasingly frustrated JoAnn was waiting on him again, but Bruce hadn't dared to send her what she needed when John was so out of control. Maybe that was safe to resolve now, at least for John. Bruce still wasn't sure if he dared let a social worker close enough to see Peter and Jack cringing away from him, as they would undoubtedly do when they saw him in person.

The elevator doors opened, and Garth and Lilith walked out. " _There_ you are! Are you having a Titans meeting without us?!"

"We would never!" Wally said with a charming smile.

"You are starting to be missed," Garth informed them. "Donna, Wonder Woman was looking for you earlier."

"All right, I'll be right up."

The Titans started heading toward the stairs, but ended up just standing around, talking for a while. Then Dick led them across the cave to show them something about the dinosaur, and then started rummaging through old Batsuits.

Bruce ground his teeth. He couldn't relax when outsiders were wandering around his cave. "I thought you said people were asking for you!" he called in annoyance.

There was a burst of laughter, then most of the Titans meandered back toward the stairs, still talking, leaving only Dick behind to keep modeling that awful rainbow suit Bruce thought he'd gotten rid of, as Kori laughed in appreciation.

Soon, even that faded, and the cave grew quiet.

...Too quiet.

Bruce kept working, glancing occasionally at the small screen confirming that there were, indeed, two people other than himself still in the cave, determined not to look around for them. If they were making out or something, he did not want to know about it.

Then there was a softly gasped, " _Kori_! My dad's _right there_!"

"Get out of my cave!" Bruce yelled.

There was a burst of giggling from both of them, some shuffling as Dick put the rainbow cowl away, and then a few minutes later, Bruce caught a sideways glimpse of the princess flying up the stairs, carrying Dick bridal style.

For a little while, it was quiet again. Then Damian came down with Duke ambling after him. The younger boy announced to Bruce his pretense for coming to the Batcave, but Bruce could tell that his son had missed him and just wanted to be with him for a while. He felt the same, so he didn't mind taking the time to hear what his boys had been up to the past several days.

Damian bragged about a mission he had successfully led his team on. Bruce finally interrupted him, setting a hand on his shoulder to soften it, in order to hear from Duke, who was starting to look impatient to share.

"I mean, I didn't actually _do_ anything, I just wanted to say how cool it was getting to hang out in the penthouse. Kind of lonely with just me, though."

"Richard and I lived there for several months while Father was temporally displaced," Damian stated.

"Uh huh," Duke said, unimpressed.

"It was adequate for a temporary stay, though the manor is more befitting of our rank."

"Damian, we've talked about this," Bruce said wearily.

"Yes, yes, rank has no inherent value, wealth is nothing more than a tool to be used for good, I _know_ ," Damian pouted.

"Now if only that were the way the world _actually_ worked," Duke muttered.

The conversation soon turned to lighter matters, and then, just as Tim had earlier, both boys got sucked into Bruce's project on the Batcomputer. They worked on it until Alfred came down. "Master Duke, the children have been asking for you. Master Damian, Mr. Kent is on the phone with his son, who wishes to speak with you. Master Bruce, I suggest you make an appearance before your guests start to leave, as they have all indulged your rudeness for quite long enough."

As the three of them got up and passed by the butler, Alfred caught Bruce's arm. "Also," the older man murmured with a gentler expression, "it is good to see you again, Master Bruce."

"I'm glad you're home, Alfred," Bruce murmured back.

TBC

A/N: Turns out we'll have at least one more chapter of aftermath - I've written most of it, just trying to figure out how to work my way from where I am now to the cliffhanger (sorry X''D) I want to leave it on before going on hiatus. (If you want to avoid the cliffhanger until this fic is active again, just stop reading when everyone leaves for patrol.)


	83. Chapter 63

_The Birds Who Smile_ , a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Part 63 (rough draft)

A/N: OH WOW WHAT A FREAKING MORON - **Starfire should not have been in the previous chapter** **. I** _ **completely**_ **forgot that she's still missing along with the other Outlaws** (I remembered that Roy was, but not Kori because she's always been strongly associated with the Teen Titans for me). **I will be fixing that mistake if/when I edit this fic!**

 **Remember that this fic is not canon compliant! I stuck to as much of the "Metal" ending as I could, but there are still some significant changes.**

o.o.o

The last of the guests left around eight in the evening. The whole family pitched in to clean up, then ended up draped around the living room, presumably watching a movie and munching on the leftover party food, though there were so many individual conversations going on in between loud commentary on the film that it was pretty much just another, smaller party.

The children were huddled in a nest on the floor made out of blankets, couch pillows, and the bodies of Titus, Dick, and Damian. Bruce was sitting on the other side of the room, at the far end of the couch. Tim was leaning on him, both of them idly working on tablets. Duke, Stephanie, and Cassandra were having a good-natured argument about the movie; Alfred was watching his family in amusement as he sipped at a cup of tea and petted the smaller Alfred.

"Gah, there's no more popcorn!" Dick complained, peering into the bowl he'd been hugging that was now empty of everything except unpopped kernels. John got up, took the other popcorn bowl away from Stephanie ("Hey!"), and brought it to Dick, who laughed and playfully waved a few of the stolen pieces before popping them in his mouth.

Instead of settling back into the nest, John returned to the coffee table to grab a handful of cookies. Then he went to the far couch, pushed one of the cookies into Tim's mouth ("Mmff!"), climbed up to push another cookie into Bruce's, then sat down, snuggling into the space he'd forced between his father and brother.

As the family stared in amazement, Peter jumped to his feet, he and Jack both looking distressed. _"No no no [chirp-chirp] get away from Bat!"_

 _"No."_ John bit a piece off his cookie, his eyes on the TV screen.

 _"Bad [chirp-chirp]!"_

 _"No."_

 _"[chirp-chirp],"_ Jack whimpered, _"Master hurt you."_

John looked at his small brothers. _"No,"_ he said again, more softly this time. _"Master is gone. [caw] was right. This is Daddy now."_

 _"Daddy is FAKE!"_ Peter said in frustration.

 _"Daddy is Batman yes, Daddy is fake no."_

The younger children stared. Their brother _knew_ that Bruce was Batman, yet he still insisted that he was Daddy?

 _"[chirp-chirp] is crazy,"_ Peter decided.

 _"No."_

Dick reached to pat his foot. "Peter, everything's okay. No one is going to hurt anyone."

Peter pointed and shrieked in exasperation, "Hhe BbAT'mman!"

Dick dropped his face onto his arm. He couldn't do this again.

 _"Two Bats, Bad Laugh Man and him, B,"_ John signed. _"Bad Laugh Man gone."_

 _"No!"_ Peter signed angrily. _"Bad Laugh Man is not dead, Bad Laugh Man is sleeping! Daddy is weak will die and Bad Laugh Man comes back."_

Bruce tried not to grit his teeth. "We are two different people. The Man Who Laughs is dead."

"Nno!" Peter hissed. _"You are ALIVE! You are weak, Bad Laugh Man come back."_

"Cowl footage," Tim suggested.

Bruce stood up, and all three children flinched. "If you come to the cave, I can _show_ you that the Man Who Laughs died."

The problem was, the birds did not want to go down into the cave with Bruce. They only managed it when Dick and Tim descended the stairs first, stopping a few steps down to coax, and John put a trembling hand into Bruce's, clutching Duke tight with his other hand. The younger ones, clinging to Alfred and Cassandra, finally shuffled after them, and they all made their way down to the computer.

Bruce pulled up the recording his cowl had made during that final confrontation in the cave of the Batman Who Laughs. There was the interior, so like Bruce's own cave yet so different; the Over-Monitor bound to the machine that almost destroyed the multiverse; and the little Robins crawling around, their feral insanity now a shocking contrast to the three very human children who had become so beloved in the weeks since they'd joined the family.

"Ttat'ss mmonsstah!" Jack exclaimed in shock, pointing. "Lli'l bbad mmonsstah!"

"You are not bad," Dick said firmly, scooping him up and kissing him. "You were very sick babies who needed help, and now you are safe and healthy."

 _"[trill]! [trill]!"_ Peter cried.

 _"[trill]..."_

Then the Batman Who Laughs stepped into view, and the children screamed. All of them clung to their family as they watched, terrified and mesmerized. Laughs's gravelly, spine-chilling voice gloated and taunted Batman; Batman grunted a response, and then the camera went dizzingly wild as they fought.

There was one last jerk before the view fell relatively still again, this time significantly lower than before. Laughs's evil smile widened further as he held a smoking gun.

"Did he _shoot_ you?!" Duke indignantly voiced what everyone was thinking.

"Yes."

"Reprehensible cur," Damian growled.

More gloating. The camera wavered as the wearer gasped painfully for breath. "Wait," Bruce suddenly remembered, but just then, a bloody flag adorned with the word 'Bang!' popped out from Laughs's chest. Peter giggled at the sight of it.

But the next second, the children screamed again when Laughs's assailant stepped out from behind him.

" _Joker_?!" Dick cried in a choked voice. " _Joker_ was there?!"

"I didn't ask him to be," Bruce said sourly.

"A Joker from the dark multiverse, or _the_ Joker?" Tim asked urgently.

"I am not going to answer that," Bruce bit out, his guts still roiling with shame.

They were distracted from further comments by the activity happening on the screen. The fight had been renewed, so it was hard to tell exactly what was going on, but Laughs seemed to be flagging. As both injured Batmen struggled to stay on their feet and keep swinging, Joker laughed and crooned and played with them, physically lashing out at Laughs but sending gleeful verbal barbs Batman's way.

Then the camera shot upward. Dust was falling; there was another sickening jolt of movement and a crash loud enough to overwhelm the cowl's audio receptors for a second, then the view settled on the boulder that had just fallen from the crumbling ceiling. A half-ring of blood and gore had splashed out from under it, of which Joker had hopped out of the way, cringing on the ball of one foot in an over-the-top show of squeamishness. A forearm, completely still, was the only part of the corpse left uncrushed.

Bruce, suddenly wondering if it had been wrong to show something so violent to children under the age of ten, turned guiltily to look at them, but they didn't seem horrified at all. All three of the birds were staring at the screen with all the shock and tremulous hope of people who were seeing a sunrise for the first time.

Joker went into a giggly, flirty spiel, but Batman turned away and rushed to free the Over-Monitor and snatch up the leashes of the dazed, bewildered Robins. The camera shook again as Batman ran, and Joker's voice was lost in the rumble of the collapsing cave.

Bruce barely managed to stop the playback before the fourth child's death. In the chaos of caring for her brothers these past weeks, Bruce hadn't thought about it often, but now he was hit with the sickeningly vivid memory of that dark world's Carrie getting hit in the head by a falling rock, the sudden jerk of the leash as she fell, his desperation to rush back and snatch her up, the struggle to carry her limp body and the heavy Over-Monitor at the same time while he was injured, the additional worry on top of everything else that the other children might get caught in the cave's collapse as well...

The three boys had survived, but Bruce had been in too much of a hurry at the time to attempt any comfort. He'd checked for signs of life when he set down their sister and found none, secured the leashes, sent a hasty message to his family about the situation, and hurried to rejoin the rest of the League and figure out how to stop the multiverse from being swallowed by darkness.

 _'If she had survived, I would have had another daughter.'_

Before Bruce could get lost in his grief, Stephanie broke the silence. "That was so messed up. Like, I'm glad he's dead, but that whole fight was messed up."

" _Joker_ ," Dick repeated in disgust.

Tim exhaled and turned to the children. "There. You see? The Batma- The Man Who Laughs is dead. He can't hurt you anymore."

The birds looked incredibly confused rather than convinced. "Bbat'mman," Peter said, pointing at Bruce.

Dick was not the only one who facepalmed, and definitely not the only one who wanted to.

"Yes," Tim said in a strained voice, "Bruce is the _good_ Batman. The guy who got squashed like the disgusting roach he is was the _bad_ Batman, and he is dead."

 _"Bad Laugh Man dead blood, B is alive?"_ John signed, looking completely bewildered.

 _"Rock go away, blood go inside B,"_ Jack reasoned. _"Batman Bad Laugh Man B is not dead now."_

"They are TWO PEOPLE!" Dick cried. " _Two_! Different ones! Two!"

It suddenly hit Bruce like a thunderclap. For all the offhand remarks that had probably gone over the children's heads, no one had ever actually sat down and explained what had happened to them. The birds had not been in their right minds during the destruction of Earth -22, the recruitment of the Dark Knights, the attack on the multiverse, or even the death of Laughs (if their amazement at seeing the video was anything to go by, they hadn't remembered it at all. And since the video had been taken from Batman's point of view, obviously Batman had not appeared onscreen). For all they knew, they were _still in their homeworld_.

They had no concept of multiple universes or alternate selves. To them, Bruce Wayne was not their abuser's counterpart, he _was_ their abuser who had experienced a completely inexplicable change of heart. No wonder they had never believed the oft-repeated assurances that the Batman Who Laughs was dead - when they had no memory of the event and could see with their own eyes that Bruce Wayne was alive and well, it must have seemed like a ridiculously blatant lie.

"Good God..."

Everyone looked at him. "What?"

"Bruce, what is it?"

"They don't know. It never even _occurred_ to me to-" Bruce started working furiously.

"Bruce, _what_?! What is it?!"

"Go play," Bruce snapped impatiently. "I'll show them when I finish."

"Timmy, you're the World's Second-Greatest Detective, what the hell is happening?"

Tim was frowning at the screen, watching the photographs Bruce was rapidly collecting and the video he was searching for. Then his eyes widened. "Wait, did we ever-?! Oh my God-"

"WHAT IS IT, TIMOTHY?!"

Tim whirled to face them. "Dick, did you ever tell them they're not in Earth -22 anymore?! Damian?! Anybody?!"

It took a minute for the implications to sink in.

"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!"

Instead of entertaining themselves waiting, everyone, including all three children, watched avidly as Bruce put together what he needed. Then he spun to face the birds, regretting the abrupt movement when they flinched. "Boys, listen to me. I need to show you something."

He played the classic _I Love Lucy_ mirror scene, which had the children (and several of the adults) giggling despite their anxiety. Then he paused the video and flipped over to the screenshot he'd taken and split. He moved each half to opposite sides of the screen, beneath images of two different caves. "Look. There are two Batcaves - two worlds."

Dick handed Jack to Cassandra and started signing ASL translations in the hope that it would add clarity to the verbal explanation. "Harpo lives here in this world," Bruce continued, "and Lucy lived here in this other Batcave, this parallel world. They look very similar, but they are not the same. They are two different people."

He started adding photographs of his family. "I live here in this cave, this world, with Harpo. The Man- The Batman Who Laughs, Bad Laugh Man, he lived over here in this other world, with Lucy. Dick lives here with me. John, you are Dick's counterpart, you lived here in Lucy's world. Jason is from this world, Peter is from the other world, it's called Earth -22. This world here is Prime Earth. Tim lives in Prime Earth, and his alternate self, Jack, lived in Earth -22."

He paused to glance at the children. They had gone very still, staring with wide eyes. "Now - what happened is that Earth -22, this Batcave here, it was destroyed. It is now gone forever." He used the stylus to visibly scratch over the second Batcave picture and then swipe it off the screen. "Laughs, Lucy, John, Peter, and Jack came over to this world, Earth Prime." He dragged the photos over to the other half of the screen. "There was a war, and Laughs died. You watched him die, you saw a boulder fall on him and crush him, so he is dead now." He scratched through Laughs's picture very heavily and swiped the stylus a little too hard to get rid of it.

"Now. Here, in this world, the Earth Prime cave, Harpo and Lucy went away to live happily together. I still live here, and so does Dick and John - you are versions of the same person who lived in two different worlds, but now you are together, you live in the same world now. And Jason is still here-" At least, Bruce hoped with all his heart and soul that Jason was still alive and well, "-and Peter, and Tim and Jack are here, together. We are not separated anymore because that old cave, that old world, is gone. The Batman Who Laughs is gone, too. _I_ am the real Batman. I belong to this world, not your old world." He came to a stop, then looked apprehensively at the little ones, not sure how to make it any clearer.

They looked completely astounded. _"...Two?"_ Jack finally signed.

"Yes," Tim said emphatically. "You and I, we're the same person, we just grew up in different worlds. We call you Jack so we don't have two Tims running around, but I know your name is Timothy Jackson Drake, just like mine is."

"And we're Richard John Grayson," Dick told John gently. "Everyone calls us Dick, and Mom called us Robin. That's both of us, Johnny, not just you and not just me."

 _"Two, two, stupid big people, you are [chirp-chirp] and [warble]!"_ Peter complained.

 _"No- No! I am Ttimmo'tty Dda'kke! [warble] is my bird name, Ttimmy is my boy name, before Big Ttimmy STOLE it!"_ Except- Except that wasn't what happened, because they said there were TWO caves, a cave for Timmy and a cave for [ _warble_ ], and just like the caves were different but the same...Timmy and [ _warble_ ] were the same. Timmy hadn't stolen his name after all?!

 _"My name is Ddi'ckk,"_ John said faintly. _"That dead boy, before Bad Laugh Man stole me, I was Ddi'ckk."_

 _"HE'S Ddi'ckkie!"_ Peter insisted. _"YOU'RE [chirp-chirp]!"_

 _"No! YOU named me [chirp-chirp]! I was Ddi'ckk Ggay'ssson, he is Ddi'ckk, both of us, both of us!"_ John was crying because that lost boy wasn't lost after all. He'd _escaped_ Bad Laugh Man, he grew big and was waiting so sweet and kind for [ _chirp-chirp_ ], for John to escape too and come find him - [big _chirp-chirp_ ] Dick didn't have the same boy name and the same bird name because he was _like_ John, he had the same names because he WAS John!

Now Peter was floored. If [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was really Little Dick and [ _warble_ ] was really Little Tim, then that meant...that meant [ _caw_ ] was Little Jason. Which meant there was a Big Jason. "WWHHERRE MMY JJA'SSONN!" he screamed. Was Big Jason dead?! Batman said that Jason was here in this cave, but he _was not_ , it was a _lie_ -

Except [ _caw_ ], Little Jason Peter, he thought very hard, and suddenly remembered a Big Jason in this cave. There _had_ been...a long time ago. A long long time ago, there was a Big Jason, and he had been here but then he _died_.

No...no, big people in this cave did not die, even when they went away and went away and went _away_ , they always came back again. Jason went away but he wasn't dead. He wasn't dead because he did not live in that bad cave with Bad Laugh Man and 'Lucy,' he lived here in _this_ cave with Bruce and 'Harpo,' so he wasn't dead! He went away but he would COME BACK, yes?! Yes?!

"Oh, Peter... We've been looking for him, we don't know where he is but I promise we'll do our best to find him-"

 _"GIVE ME!"_ Peter demanded, then ran for the stairs.

By this time, John and Dick were sobbing in each other's arms, John overwhelmed with a mix of grief and joy, and Dick with the strength of his little counterpart's feelings. Jack had grabbed Tim's hands and jumping and shrieking in excitement. Tim, though not crying, looked overwhelmed as well.

When things finally settled down, Peter was sulkily refusing to come out of the closet he had hidden in, and the other boys happily refused to be separated from their counterparts. Although Jack still kept his distance from Bruce, he was no longer frightened and angry; the way he looked at the man was appraising. John and Jack allowed pajamas and teeth brushing, but would not lie down.

Dick threw up his hands, giving up. "Okay, they're not going to bed. Let's haul them back down to the cave and hope they'll let us on patrol."

The birds did not, in fact, allow their counterparts to leave for patrol. A grumbling Dick and silently miffed Tim took on tech support duty, which at least meant Alfred could get more of his own work done and go to bed earlier. Peter, lonely in the now-quiet house, took Duke's hand and dragged him down to join the others.

Instead of falling asleep in a blanket nest, the birds stayed up this time, cuddling with their older siblings and paying attention to the Batcomputer, with its various video feeds and the family's voices coming out of the speakers. They occasionally played the computer games Tim set up for them, but not often.

" _CROW_!" Jack shrieked at one point, pointing at screen 4C.

"Agent J-Minor says it just turned onto Hawley Street," Tim reported.

"How did you know we were looking for the villainous ice cream truck?" Dick laughed.

"If he's paying attention, it's not hard even for a six-year-old civilian to figure out," Tim said.

 _"Bad car,"_ Peter signed, then yelped when Batman landed on the truck's roof. The vehicle skidded and crashed; when the driver tried to escape, Batman immediately fell upon him. The two accomplices made it farther, but then Spoiler flew out of the shadows with a kick to one's chest and a batarang to disarm the other before punching him in the face. "Ggoo'd jjob, Ssephh!"

"Spoiler," Tim said immediately. "When she is out there, her name is _Spoiler_."

"Sso'ppah."

"We'll work on that."

 _"Safe good flock please please careful safe,"_ John twittered softly.

There were no Rogue threats or major gang activity that night, and the general incident rate petered out after a few hours, as it tended to do whenever small-time criminals learned that the Bats were undistracted. Bruce and Stephanie were able to return home early, leaving Robin and Orphan to continue on the rounds just to discourage criminals from thinking it was safe to come out.

The birds hid when the Batmobile came roaring into the cave, but then they crept out to watch in utter fascination as Batman made the transformation to Daddy.

Bruce self-consciously held a towel in front of himself and pointed. "John, we _talked_ about this! Go AWAY until I have clothes on!"

"Come on, baby birds, let's go upstairs," Dick chuckled.

Once Bruce had joined them, the children finally consented to go to bed. They let Dick read a picture book to them, but Bruce was only a couple of sentences into _Peter Pan_ when his phone suddenly started going crazy. As soon as he realized what was happening, he rushed out the door.

"What is it?!" Dick cried, hurrying after him (predictably, the children scrambled out of bed and scampered along).

"It's- Wait, not the cave, they're-" Bruce took the stairs three at a time, disarming the security system as he went, and flung open the front door.

He found himself face to face with an Amazon, who, after staring at him for a moment in surprise, lowered the fist she had been about to knock with. "I assume you are Batman," she greeted.

Bruce's eyes jumped to Starfire, who smiled, and the bleeding and exhausted archer she was carrying on her back. Roy raised his hand in a sloppy salute. Bizarro loomed behind them, cradling a still, silent figure in his arms.

"Jason!"

TBC

A/N: And now we go on hiatus! :) :) :) I'm thinking for about a month - two weeks to work on Breezy's and my crossover, and two weeks to do prep work for the next chunk of TBWS.


	84. Snow Globe (theme 2)

The Birds Who Smile: Christmas 2018 - Snow Globe (theme 2) [rough draft]

A Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Bruce only had his back turned for a minute. He was in a small shop that specialized in artisanal handicrafts, looking at an exquisite piece the shopowner had just revealed, seriously considering buying it for Leslie, when there was a crash behind him. He whirled around and was horrified to find a hand-crafted snow globe shattered on the floor at his son's feet.

It hadn't been an accident, either. Even as he watched and the shopowner sucked in a pained gasp, John crouched down, picked the base of the snow globe out of the puddle of water and broken glass shards, and started trying to wrench it apart, heedless of the cuts on his fingers.

"John!"

The boy snarled at him with a savagery Bruce hadn't seen from him in a long time. The man tried to soften his voice, approaching slowly with palms out. "Look, chum, you're hurting yourself. Let's just-"

John refused to let go of the interior figures, which turned out to be a winter-bare tree with a trio of singing birds. John carelessly let some of the snapped branches fall, but he kept a death grip on the two birds that had broken off and the third bird that had remained on the tree. He only let go at last when Bruce made a nest for the ceramic animals out of his handkerchief. "All right, come over here, Johnny, let's patch up your hands."

When the child was bandaged up and protectively cradling the nest in the crook of one arm, Bruce asked, "John, look at me. Why did you break that snow globe? It didn't belong to you, I would have bought it if you'd asked-"

 _"Do not put birds in cage,"_ John signed, glaring.

Bruce looked at him, then at the wastebasket into which a store employee was emptying the remains of the painted birds' transparent prison. "...All right. But next time, tell me _before_ you break it."

Bruce paid for the broken snow globe, bought the statuette he'd been looking at for Leslie, and then a third piece just because he felt bad. At home, he carefully trimmed the excess ceramic from the birds and touched up the raw places with paint. John watched the whole process, then happily accepted his birds back and went to make another nest for them on top of his dresser, where they lived for the next several years.

o.o.o

A/N: I know this is not the best weekend to post stuff, since everyone's probably marathoning Voltron and/or busy backing up and rescuing stuff from Tumblr, but reviews would still be appreciated...!


	85. Santa Claus (theme 24)

**The Birds Who Smile: Christmas 2018 - Santa Claus (theme 24) [rough draft]**

 **A Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

Carl Tannen exhaled a plume of cigarette smoke and leaned against the wall in relief. After a couple of minutes, he unfastened the jacket of his costume and let it hang open, allowing the cold breeze coming through the alley behind the mall to bring some relief to his sweaty body.

 _'Damn kids.'_ He kind of hated them, hated their grossness and their selfishness and basically everything else about them, and having to spend hours holding them in his lap and listening to their crap wasn't doing any favors to his mental state. Taking this job when the original hire bailed out last-minute had been an act of desperation; it had been either this or running drugs again. He knew he'd had an absurd amount of luck to get out without ever being caught by either the police or the Bats, and he knew not to push that luck in a city like Gotham.

After a weird series of thumps, the door opened, and Carl silently cursed. He could tolerate Pat, the guy always came out here to text in peace and never looked anyone in the eye or spoke if he could help it, even when he was on the clock. Anyone else, though, particularly doesn't-know-how-to-shut-up _Elsiebeth_ , Carl knew that in his current state of mind, it'd be difficult not to punch them...

It was worse than Elsiebeth. So, so much worse.

The tiny boy stared up at him, an initial grin of delight fading to confusion and then- Was that a _judgmental frown_ on the little brat's face? The kid pointed and exclaimed indignantly, "San'a Caus no ssmoki'! Das bad for you!"

"I'm on my _break_ , you little snot, I can do what I want!" Carl snarled.

He expected the kid to burst into tears, run off and tattle on him, and get him fired, but the boy simply crossed his arms disapprovingly. "No, da cigare' make you sick. Da ssmoke come innor rung an'-! *cough cough* Ohhhh, it hurt, it hurt! Poor li'l rung! Look, I show you." He pulled out a cell phone and tapped at it, far too expertly for such tiny fingers, then righteously showed Carl a picture of a healthy lung juxtaposed with a picture of a smoke-damaged one. "See, it b'ack! *cough cough* So sick an' har' ta beave, oh no, San'a Caus habe cansa!"

Carl stared, caught off guard despite himself. He didn't really know how to react to being lectured about lung cancer by a kindergartener.

"Why San'a Caus be ssmoki', hurt poor li'l rung?!"

"Because I have anxiety and can't afford the meds," Carl grumbled, expecting the kid to have no idea what that meant.

Instead, the little face softened sympathetically. "Ohh, poor San'a Caus, I habe a'siety, too. I sscare, *gasp gasp gasp*!" He fluttered his hands in front of his chest demonstratively. "Bu' look, I habe chew piggy!" He fished around inside his shirt and pulled out what looked like a rubbery toy on a string, covered with tooth marks. "Eat da chew piggy, *gnaw gnaw gnaw*, an' feel better! Da a'siety go *haaaah*." He spread his hands out and downward in a calming gesture. "Here! San'a Caus habe chew piggy, feel better!" He held out the toy.

Carl leaned back in disgust. "That's nasty."

The child stared at him, then at the thing. "Oh. It dirty, it habe Jackie germ! 'S okay, San'a Caus, I buy you new one." He reached for Carl's hand, and the man barely managed to jerk away in time. "You can't buy me anything, you're, like, four."

"I buy ting wi' money! Daddy gibe me money, see?" And the kid took out a wallet, opened it, and pulled out _a freaking fifty dollar bill_.

"Give me that money," Carl said at once, stubbing out his cigarette. "Santa needs money to buy your presents. You want presents this year, don't you?"

The kid held the bill to his chest protectively. "No! Dis money for _chew piggy_! Come on, San'a Caus."

Carl let the boy tow him back inside, wondering if it would be worth going so far as to grab the cash out of the kid's hand. They went through the stocking area (how did the kid even _get_ back here unnoticed, anyway?), and then they were in the workroom and it was too late. Carl's coworkers stared as he continued helplessly trailing after the tiny weirdo dragging him along by the hand.

The boy took him all the way out into the mall proper, chattering half-intelligibly the whole way, and into the closest store, which happened to sell lingerie. They didn't stop until they'd gone right up to the counter, upon which the child placed his fifty dollar bill. "E'sscuse me!" he told the staring young lady behind the register, "I buy chew piggy for San'a Caus, becau' he habe a'siety; feel better! Pees gimme chew piggy."

Carl and the young lady, whose name tag said 'Jaevonn,' stared at each other for about three seconds until a voice announced over the mall-wide intercom, _"Will Jack Thomas Drake-Wayne please report to Customer Service - your family is looking for you. Jack Thomas Drake-Wayne, please report to Customer Service."_

The little boy pointed toward the closest speaker. "Dat Jack Thoma' Dake-'Ayne, dat me!"

"You want me to take him?" Jaevonn asked, smiling a little in amusement.

" _Please_." As the young woman went to inform her supervisor, Carl turned to Jack Thomas Drake-Wayne, who wouldn't miss that fifty at all if his daddy was who it sounded like. "Jack, let Santa Claus have that fifty so he can buy a...chew piggy for anxiety." The thing looked nothing like a pig, but whatever.

"San'a Caus be good, no more ssmoki'?"

"No more smoking, cross my heart and hope to die."

"San'a Caus no die." The child readily handed over the cash. "Be ggood, or San'a Caus no get pesents!"

Which made no sense, but whatever; Carl was already shoving the money deep into his pocket. "I'll be good as gold, kid, don't worry."

"San'a Caus goo' boy," Jack said approvingly.

Jaevonn came back to walk the child to Customer Service, and Carl went back to finish his break for real.

After his shift, he stopped by a convenience store for a new pack. At the counter, though, he hesitated for a long time, thinking of the little person who had given him the money he was currently holding in his hand, whose illusions hadn't been shattered by seeing Santa Claus as a disheveled, addicted loser in a back alley, who'd trusted him to buy whatever the hell a 'chew piggy' was with this money to stave off the anxiety so he wouldn't smoke and die of cancer.

Carl sighed deeply and ended up buying a package of nicotine patches.

o.o.o

A/N: Carl is bad at estimating children's ages; Jack is definitely older than four.

 **Breezy art on AO3**


	86. Santa's Sleigh (theme 21)

**The Birds Who Smile: Christmas 2018 - Santa's Sleigh / Reindeer (themes 21 & 19), and also possibly Elf (theme 14) if I can't think of anything better**

 **[rough draft]**

 **A Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

The birds had already had their official visit to the Diamond District Santa Claus the week before, and then there was that unofficial encounter two days ago with the Santa of Burnley Mall, who'd apparently swindled Jack out of $50 (not that anyone had the heart to disillusion the child). Now the Waynes were trying to finish up their shopping at Coventry Mall, making a proper family outing of it with dinner and a movie planned afterward.

Bruce sighed a little when they passed the 'North Pole' and Jack started making an excited fuss, apparently not satisfied with the 1.5 visits to Santa he'd already had this season. Since Bruce Wayne was almost incapable of saying no to small children, cue Santa Claus Visit #2.5. Bruce hauled his youngest child to the back of the line like the non-entitled normal people he was supposed to teach his kids to be, and they waited their turn.

Tim waved and headed off with Cass, Duke, and John to continue shopping; Dick, with Alfred beside him fussing over the shopping bags, collapsed on a bench to rest and strike up a cheerful conversation with the very pretty 20-year-old nursing her baby nearby. Damian was drawn like a magnet to the live reindeer giving rides to children, where he started grilling the attendant about the animal's work conditions.

Peter was bored. Therefore, when no one was looking (except Jason, who pretended he wasn't), he crawled into the pile of fake gifts in Santa's sleigh and lay in wait for an unsuspecting victim.

As soon as the thick velvet cord was lifted up in front of Jack, he raced to climb into Santa's lap.

"Ho ho ho, hello there! What would you like for Chri-?"

"San'a Caus buy chew piggy, rung is happy now?!" Jack inquired eagerly.

While Bruce was explaining to the very confused Mr. Claus, one of the elves moved over to the sleigh to grab the bottle of water she kept hidden in the front.

Peter leaped out in an explosion of fake presents. "HA HA HA HA HA!" he bellowed in his best supervillain laughter, smiling wide like a certain infamous maniac.

Even he was not prepared for the young lady's genuine terror, or the extent of her reaction. "AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" She was already running for her life as Peter, startled, fell back.

"IT'S THE JOKER!" someone in line shrieked, and the entire 'North Pole' erupted into panicked mayhem, which swiftly spread to the rest of the mall. Santa thrust Jack into his father's arms and fled. The abandoned reindeer shifted in alarm and dropped a chunk of poop, but then decided that the treat Damian held under its nose was more interesting than the squealing humans farther away.

The Waynes stood there looking at their kid, the group of them an island of calm amidst the madness. "Pretty impressive, considering the lack of duffel bag heads," Jason remarked in amusement, but Bruce's expression was grim as he comforted Jack.

After a long moment, Peter's rigid, apprehensive pose broke into an artfully sheepish one. With young Tim Drake puppy eyes and a lopsided Dick Grayson smile, he said, "I lub you, Daddy."

Bruce, mostly in an attempt to resist the blatant sucking up, turned away to call Jim Gordon and tell him that the alleged supervillain attack on the mall was a false alarm.


	87. Christmas Sweater and Nativity Scene

**The Birds Who Smile: Christmas 2018 - Christmas Sweater (theme 4) [rough draft]**

 **A Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

Peter ran into the living room and clung to Dick, giggling as he hid his face against the back of the man's shoulder. "What's so funny, baby bird?"

"Dummy boddas."

"What did they do?" Bruce asked in alarm, rising from the couch. Since the only answer was more laughter, everyone went together to see what trouble the other birds had gotten into.

All the Christmas sweaters that didn't belong to Dick had been exiled to one of the guest bedrooms. On the floor of this room was writhing a peculiar creature with two heads, four legs, and no arms - empty sleeves lay limply on either side of it.

"Daddy, hehp!" Jack cried pathetically. He and John had apparently contrived to squeeze together into an adult-sized sweater, fallen over, and now couldn't get up or escape. John paused his contortions to glare at his brothers, who were practically collapsing with laughter in the hall.

Bruce sighed and approached. "All right, boys, hold on, I'll get you out in a minute..."

 **The Birds Who Smile: Christmas 2018 - Nativity Scene (theme 22) [rough draft]**

 **A Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

The morning of Christmas Eve, Alfred fetched the children from their room (they were usually the earliest risers in the household and could finally be trusted not to wander unsupervised as soon as they got out of bed), fed them breakfast, then got them settled in the living room while he worked.

A little later, Duke, on his way to the kitchen, paused to find the birds avidly watching an animated presentation of the Nativity story on TV. Peter was pointing at the screen and explaining something about "Baby Jesus" to his brothers in a mix of languages.

An hour later, Bruce shuffled down the hall and frowned when he saw most of his older children gathered in the living room entryway. All of them were alight with amusement (except Tim, who looked a bit pouty) and had their phones out to record. Bruce went to look, and Jason shifted aside to make room for him.

John had taken a gauzy blue table covering from the parlor and draped it over his head and shoulders like a shawl. The children had pulled all the spare pillows and throws out of the large basket by the loveseat and put Jack in it, bundled up in blankets. The little boy had an angelic look on his face as John cooed at him and patted his head. Titus was lying near the basket, and Peter was just putting the grumpy-looking cat in with Jack.

John looked up and signed imperiously at his familiy, _"Bring milk for baby!"_

"No, I want juice," Jack insisted.

Everyone burst into laughter, and Bruce obligingly went to fetch an offering that was far less valuable than gold, frankincense, or myrrh, but rather more immediately satisfying.

o.o.o

A/N: Every time I think I'm fresh out of ideas for this prompt list, I figure out a new one. XD I've already written "Santa Claus" and will probably post it in a day or two.

 **Breezy art on AO3!**


	88. Christmas Cookies (theme 5)

The Birds Who Smile: Christmas 2018 - Christmas Cookies (theme 5) [rough draft]

A Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Inspired by breezy-cheezy (Medli45)

o.o.o

 _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_ Jason sang at full volume to The Drifters as he worked, Alfred beside him quietly vocalizing in harmony. The two men were making Christmas cookies, Jason rolling out the dough for a new batch and Alfred decorating the batch that had finished cooling from the overn. On the butler's other side, a small, scarred hand reached out, grasped a tree-shaped cookie, and drew it toward an eager little mouth.

 _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_

The child's hand reached again. Jason, without any break in his singing, raised his eyebrows at Alfred, who somehow managed to shrug with only his face.

 _[*censored because FFN is stupid*]_

The hand reached out a third time. Before yet another cookie could be stolen, Jason let go of the rolling pin and pounced, scooping up his young counterpart. Peter crowed and squirmed nervously, then saw the mischievous twinkle in his older self's eye and stilled. "Ggood boy," he said, with a fetching smile he had to have learned from his brothers (Jason had certainly never known how to make things like Puppy Eyes before he'd seen Dick and then John and Jack in action).

"Hey. No sugar until after dinner, okay?"

Peter gazed at him for a moment. Then he turned in Jason's arms and openly reached for the cookies again, this time with both hands.

"You little brat!" Jason hoisted the child across his shoulders in a fireman's carry, prompting a giggle-shriek from Peter. "We are going to find something fun to do that doesn't involve bothering Alfred or spoiling your appetite." Jason, replaying what he'd just said as he carried his boy out of the kitchen, absently wondered how he'd become such a dad.

o.o.o

A/N: I was a bit depressed yesterday, so I wanted to write some TBWS baby birds to cheer myself up. Breezy helped a lot with her emails and her latest batch of lovely sketches. She's working on a Christmas prompt list, and I thought the one she did for "Christmas Cookies" was so cute and so suited to my current frame of mind that I wrote it out. ^^ I've also written the "Snow Globe" prompt (also for TBWS), and will probably post that in the next day or two.

Sorry if you were expecting the next TBWS chapter. I started editing the fic (not _fully_ editing, but getting it about 90% edited). I've done eleven installments so far, but I realized that if I do about ten chapters a week, that still means it'll take me at least five more weeks _just_ for the editing, not even taking into account the prep work for the next story arc that I still haven't touched yet. o.O So I might try to write other stuff like TBWS vignettes in the meantime. (I have not yet been successful in writing anything longer than a vignette on weekdays; I'm still not used to my new schedule.) Some of the TBWS vignettes, definitely this one, might be integrated into the main story once I make it that far.

See AO3 for Breezy's sketch!


	89. Presents (theme 20)

**The Birds Who Smile: Christmas 2018 - Presents (theme 20) [rough draft]**

 **A Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

"Okay, baby birds are youngest, so they get to be our little Christmas elves!"

"Thank God," Damian exhaled in relief.

The whole family was sitting around the living room on Christmas morning, gearing up to open gifts.

"Boys, look," Bruce said, taking up a wrapped package to show them. "You look at the label, and it will have the word 'To' and then a name. You give it to that person. Jack, can you read this name?"

"Dat Jay."

"That's right, it says 'Jason.' Sometimes it might say 'Jay' or 'Jaybird,' but those are Jason, too. Who does this present belong to?"

"Jay good boy pesent."

"Yes, very good. Please take this over to Jason."

Jack obeyed, and beamed when Jason said, "Thanks, buddy," and ruffled his hair.

"Peter," Bruce went on, picking up another present, "can you look where I'm pointing and tell me who this gift belongs to?"

"...Seffy."

"That's right. Stephanie is the only person here whose name starts with 'S.' This is her gift, so please take it to her."

Peter grabbed the present, galloped over to Stephanie, and pitched it at her. She laughed as she caught it.

" _Gentle_ , Peter!" Bruce called. He sighed and turned to the oldest bird. "John, can you read this here? T-I-M. Who is that? Whose name is spelled T-I-M?"

"...Ttmmy."

"Very good. Please take this to Tim."

The kids soon got into the rhythm of gift-distributing, but accuracy soon became an issue. "Dude, this is Dick's, not mine," Duke pointed out.

Peter pouted. "D for Du'ke."

"Yeah, and also D for Dick and D for Damian. You gotta look at the whole name, man, not just the first letter."

"Bad Du'ke!" Peter grabbed the present and defiantly went to put it in Damian's lap. "D pesent for Dami."

"Seriously?"

While that was going on, John had pushed a large package over to Bruce. "John, you didn't even look at the label. This is Alfred's, not mine."

 _"Big present for big B."_ John walked away to get the next present.

Jack, who'd been industriously and correctly handing out gifts, discovered why Damian was arguing with Peter. He grabbed the gift in question ("Dis DICKIE!") and went to give it to its righful owner. Peter twittered angrily, and Jack righeously twittered back without looking.

Peter pouted again, then got a crafty look. Acting nonchalant, he loitered until Jack had scampered back to the gift pile under the tree, then grabbed Dick's present and gleefully raced to put it back beside Damian.

By this time, everyone had given up trying to correct the children and was struggling to hold back laughter as they watched the show unfold. John continued to distribute gifts based solely on their physical attributes ( _"Pretty present for pretty Loud Shiny,"_ he announced when he handed to Stephanie a box with sparkling metallic wrapping paper and Cass's name on the label).

Peter continued to sneak behind Jack, undoing his little brother's work. When Jack discovered this, he burst into a furious round of bird-scolding and then started trying to fix the wrongly delivered gifts. Peter openly grabbed them back, so the next one Jack seized, he ran with all the way out of the room. Peter ran after him. A minute later, both boys came rushing back, each grabbed a present, and ran out again in different directions.

Gift distribution had turned into a who-can-hide-the-most-presents contest. The rest of the family watched through the security camera feed Bruce had pulled up, cheering on one boy or the other and making commentary.

When the gift John was holding got snatched right out of his grasp, he stared at his empty hands for a minute, then went to pry bows off the remaining presents. He carefully arranged them along his arms, then started to twirl, admiring the sparkles catching in the light.

Once the living room was completely empty of gifts, everyone waited in anticipation. Peter and Jack finally returned, gloating at each other in bird language.

"Boys," their father said.

They both froze and stared at him.

With a straight face, Bruce asked, "Where are all our gifts?"

John smirked. The guiltily aghast expressions on the younger boys' faces as they realized they'd just stolen all their family's Christmas presents set the family in question howling with laughter.

When Jack burst into tears and Peter hid, it turned to soothing, still-grinning reassurance, and Dick said, "It's okay, baby birds, a gift hunt is more fun, anyway."

Thus was the start of a new holiday tradition in the Wayne household.

o.o.o

A/N: Breezy art on AO3


	90. Side-story: Bat Weds Cat

The Birds Who Smile: Bat Weds Cat

(rough draft)

A Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Summary: My headcanon for Bruce & Selina's wedding, including the children from my fic _The Birds Who Smile_.

A/N: This fic is crossposted on all my sites, but in different collections. Ask me if you can't find it on AO3 or FFN (or DA).

More notes at the end of the fic.

o.o.o

"Do you need something, Kyle?" Damian asked coldly without looking up. His father's fiancée had been standing behind his desk for a full minute without saying anything, and he refused to look up from his work or turn around.

"...All right, I'm crap at this, so let's just skip to the part where I give you a gift so you'll pretend to tolerate me."

Damian's eyes narrowed. "What sort of gift?"

In answer, Selina set something down on his desk, right on top of his notepad.

Damian stared. The creature stood uncertainly on the notepad for a minute, then started to pick its way across the desk, sniffing at things as it went, taking an experimental nip at a pencil. Damian wanted nothing more than to cup both hands around that hunk of warm, calico fluff and rub his cheek against it and feed it and keep it safe forever, but he knew that reaching for the kitten would also mean accepting the woman who had gifted it to him.

"...I suppose you'll want me to start calling you 'Mother,'" he finally said.

She leaned against the desk as if conversing casually with a friend. "You can call me whatever you want, kiddo. Within reason, obviously. I know there's someone you already call 'Mother,' and no matter what I think of her, I'm not going to make you deny what she means to you."

Slowly, Damian reached out a hand and set his fingertips on the kitten's fur, scratching gently. It whirled and started butting his hand for more. "It is a handsome creature."

"She was the best of the litter."

"Just like me," Damian asserted. He cupped his hand under the kitten, steadying her with the other, and lifted her to his cheek. "Very well. I accept your bribe, 'Mom.'"

She kissed the top of his head. "Good. Then I'll see you later, Damian."

He barely noticed her leave. He got so preoccupied playing with Bribe that the call to come to dinner hours later came as a surprise.

o.o.o.o.o

"So." Superman leaned on the back of Batman's chair, watching him type up an after-mission Justice League report. Then he thought that Batman might be offended and straightened up hurriedly. He needed to not be on the Dark Knight's bad side for this. "Have you chosen a best man yet?"

After the words left his mouth, he wanted to wince. No matter how casually he asked it, the fact that he was asking at all made what he actually wanted to know pretty obvious, given their relationship.

"If you mean, am I going to ask you to be my best man, the answer is no," Batman said shortly.

Superman immediately fell back on his practiced efforts to keep all trace of disappointment out of his voice. "No, I mean, I was just curious. Obviously you have a lot of friends, I mean, you have a reputation as a loner but you actually kind of have a ton of friends, it's totally understandable that you wouldn't pick, that, uh, it makes sense that you'd have plenty of people in mind to be your best man, I was just curious-"

Batman abruptly stood, shoved a file into Superman's hands, and stalked off, all without looking at him.

Superman stared at the topmost page, which was an application for ordination. "Are you-?! Batman, come back here, are you asking me to officiate at your wedding?!"

"Everything you need is in the file," Batman snapped, punching in a Zeta-Tube code.

"You know you didn't actually _ask_ me, but I'd be DELIGHTED to be your officiant, Bruce!" Superman shouted after his friend just before Batman Zeta'd back to Earth. He looked down at the papers in his hands, unable to stop beaming.

o.o.o.o.o

"I suppose we'll have to have two ceremonies," Bruce remarked, looking at the draft of the guest list.

Selina raised an eyebrow. "Why? It's a small wedding, and everyone we want to be there either already knows you're Batman or can keep pretending to be clueless."

"I doubt that Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy would find it in their best interests to feign cluelessness."

"Bruce. They've known who you are for ages."

Bruce did not speak or indicate any surprise in his expression or body language, but she sensed it anyway.

"Harley never told because she knows what would probably happen to your family, and she always had a hard time with kids getting hurt even she was at her worst with _him_. And Pam may not exactly be your biggest fan, but she _does_ grudgingly admit that Wayne Enterprises does a reasonable job - by meat people standards - of self-policing its environmental impact. She'd rather that everyone become plant people and subsist on sunlight, but short of that, she knows you try, and how strongly you'd retaliate if she revealed your identity. She's never had any real reason to betray you, and even if she did, she already could."

"...One ceremony, then."

o.o.o.o.o

They had originally planned for John to be the ring bearer. That changed a few days before the wedding, when the birds were poking through shopping bags as Alfred helped Bruce and Selina unload and organize the latest wedding purchases. Peter was very taken with the substitute rings sewed to their silky pillow, and had already gotten the set out of its packaging by the time any of the adults noticed.

"Peter," Selina said coaxingly, trying to get it away from him before he started chewing on it, "if you let us take it now, then we'll let you carry it at the wedding, and you can keep it afterward. How does that sound?"

"My rring."

"The rings are for the wedding. But _after_ the wedding, you can keep the rings if you're a good boy. But you have to be good and give me the rings now, and then I'll give them back to you at the wedding."

"Peter, look!" Jack said, holding out his phone. Peter was so interested in the photos his little brother had taken of him playing with the rings that he failed to stop Selina from whisking the pillow out of his hands and passing it to Alfred for safekeeping. " _CROW_!"

"Later, Peter," Bruce said quickly. "You can have it later, if you are patient."

 _"I don't like being patient!"_

"You can have something _now_ instead of the rings, and then you can have the rings _later_ , at the wedding."

Peter calculated. "...I want fixx b, book'ss."

"All right. We can go work in the library once we clean up here."

Selina reached to caress John's hair as he picked curiously at the bow on a package of placards. "Johnny, are you okay being a flower boy with Jack instead?"

 _"Flower?"_

"Peter will carry the rings, and you and Jack will scatter the flower petals for me."

 _"Roses?"_

"Yes, we're going to use rose petals."

 _"NOT RED, I DON'T LIKE IT, DO NOT CUT RED BLOOD."_

"They'll be white petals, kitten. Not red."

 _"White roses."_

"Yes, your rose petals will be white."

 _"Good."_

o.o.o.o.o

The wedding was held at Wayne Manor. Since Selina had no family and very few friends in attendance, the seating wasn't split. Though Bruce had drawn the line at Bat-Cow being included in the ceremony or positioned where she might produce cowpat photobombs, she _had_ been brought off to the side with a long tether, and was currently grazing.

The guests mingled before the ceremony, chatting or making introductions as needed. Jim Gordon, one of the few ordinary people milling through the sea of superheroes (some in their secret identities, some in full costume, and others simply masked), made a point to remark several times that Bruce Wayne sure had a lot of interesting friends thanks to his financial connections to Batman, Inc. and the Justice League. Lucius Fox and his family, some of them also odd ones out among all the literal or figurative domino masks, didn't need to insist on such a strong pretense, but they, too, avoided any speculation on why Bruce Wayne would have made these particular selections for a relatively short guest list.

At last, everyone took their seats, and the processional music started. Clark came first and took his place at the front, trying to keep his smile under control so Bruce wouldn't complain at him later for being too happy. Next came the groom escorting a dignified but proud Alfred, who was seated in a place of honor in the front row. Bruce, finding his face close to Alfred's as he started to straighten, impulsively brushed a discreet kiss against his father's forehead, and Alfred gently squeezed his hand. Bruce stepped up to his place, stoically refusing to even glance at his best friend's joyful expression.

Since all of Bruce's older children were his attendants, they far outnumbered the bridesmaids. Dick, as the best man, proceeded first by himself, carrying Alfred the cat, whom he carefully handed off to his human namesake at the end of the aisle. Next came Jason and Tim together, then Cassandra and Duke.

Damian was the last groomsman, escorting both the family dogs. While Titus behaved beautifully unleashed, Ace's ears were pricked in curiosity and his eyes were wandering. Alfred, the only person he reliably obeyed, rose up to sign commands, and Ace managed to make it to the old man's side without trotting away or bolting ahead of his companions. Once Damian had settled the dogs with nice big chew treats at Alfred's feet, he moved to join his siblings. All six attendants stood at their father's side in a tiered formation, Cassandra's long dress matching her brothers' tuxedos.

There was no maid of honor present, since the one Selina would have chosen had sacrificed her freedom for the sake of her best friend's marriage, and Selina was not about to replace Holly. Pamela came down the aisle first, followed by Harley, their bridesmaid dresses short but less revealing than expected. Isis was transferred from Pamela's arms to a decorated white cat carrier that matched Alfred's and was filled, like his, with food and quiet toys to keep her occupied. Other than Harley licking her lips and Pamela smirking a little in appreciation of the handsome groom's attendants, the bridesmaids behaved themselves.

Much better than the children did, as it turned out. John had performed wonderfully during the rehearsal with practice leaves, but now, he proceeded serenely down the entire aisle without making any move to fulfill his role. When he reached the front row, he turned around, set down his basket, scooped out two fistfuls of flower petals, and flung them into the air so that they cascaded down upon him and his alight expression in an elegant shower.

The guests barely had time to laugh and aww before Peter, delighted that people were apparently throwing things now, hurled the ring pillow high into the air.

"Go long!" Harley shouted gleefully. Clark made an instinctive move to rise up and grab it, but Bruce, without looking, nudged him hard. Pretty much everyone present knew that Bruce was Batman, but Superman still had a secret identity to protect from some of the guests, and he smiled sheepishly at his near slip-up. It was Jason who caught the pillow and then brandished it like a football.

"NO! BAD BOY!" Jack shrieked at Peter. His outraged scolding in bird language was echoed by an equally outraged Damian in human language.

Dick's arrhythmic clapping from the front captured their attention. At Bruce's sternly signed _"Come here NOW,"_ John and Peter galloped to cling to their oldest brother.

Jack resumed his trek down the aisle, strewing petals with utmost dignity and correctness. He then took his place with the rest of his family, smiling when Damian praised pointedly (and louder than intended), " _You_ did well, Drake." Almost everyone laughed again, and a pink-faced Tim made a quickly aborted move to facepalm. Jason handed the ring pillow back to his young counterpart, who immediately started to play with it.

Then the music changed, and the guests rose to their feet. A moment later, Selina made her entrance. Bruce's intense stare caught hers, and then they were aware of nothing else as the space between them grew smaller and smaller. Bruce reached out sooner than had been rehearsed, stepping forward to meet her and draw her up beside him and all the people he loved most. Selina's thoughts were so full of her soon-to-be husband that she barely remembered to hand her bouquet to Harley. Pamela watched, cool and unconvinced and polite, but Harley's delighted, fond grin was now as big as Superman's.

"Welcome, everyone, to this wonderful celebration," Clark began when the music had stopped, clapping a hand against Bruce's arm to express how happy for and proud of his friend he was. "Friends and family, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Bruce Thomas Wayne and Selina Kyle..."

It was a fairly short ceremony, partially for the birds' sake (Jack was riveted and John was daydreaming in Dick's arms, but Tim and Duke were subtly trying to distract Peter from gnawing on the substitute rings or prying beads off the pillow), and partially because an event like this was practically begging for some sort of dramatic interruption.

The ceremony, however, went smoothly. No uninvited supervillains burst onto the scene, no aliens chose that moment to invade, no exes came storming in. Bruce almost wondered if he was dreaming when he realized that Clark was asking him if he intended to take the woman he loved as his wife, and nothing was standing in the way of him saying 'I do'...so he said it. "I do." There was a quick, quiet whoop from Jason, followed by a much less quick or quiet birdcall from Peter, stage-whispered scolding from Jack and Damian, and then shushing from Dick and Tim.

Clark, smiling fondly, waited until the commotion died down before asking for the rings. Dick started, then scooted John over to lean against Cassandra instead so that he could rummage in his jacket pocket for the real rings, which he handed over. "The circular shape of the wedding ring signifies the unending nature of love-"

He paused, and everyone looked around, trying to figure out what machine was breaking down. Bruce was the one who first realized what the noise was. "Damian...did you bring your kitten?" Behind his back, Selina made an approving thumbs-up.

"...Bribe is part of the family, too," Damian said, red-faced, then fished the tiny creature out of his jacket pocket. Dick shook his head with an amused smile, Jason burst into laughter, Tim shut his eyes in a longsuffering way, and Harley squealed about how cute the kitten was.

"It's a cat, Daddy! It's a little baby cat!" Jack announced. John plucked Bribe out of Damian's indignant hands and gently rubbed her against his cheek.

"Hey, guys, I think Dad wants to finish getting married, so let's all shut up now, okay?" Dick suggested mildly, patting Damian's shoulder to calm him.

Two vows later, Bruce and Selina were husband and wife. Clark made the pronouncement, the couple moved to kiss, and Jack, unable to contain his excitement, bounded in front of them and shrieked to the guests, both arms raised in an 'Up!' gesture, "Daddy married! Be happy!" Everyone burst into laughter, which soon turned to cheers and applause. Ace started barking in excitement, followed by a couple of uncertain woofs from Titus. Bruce hoisted Jack up onto his hip and leaned to kiss Selina again, who then smiled at Jack and tugged him close to give him a kiss, too. Jack stuck close even after he was set down, beaming as proudly as if he'd arranged the whole wedding himself.

Harley, almost as excited as Jack, bounced over to glomp Dick before practically dancing in the wake of the newly married couple. Pamela followed more sedately. Dick signed a quick explanation to John, who was looking amiably confused about all the noise, before retreating down the aisle himself. John and Peter ended up trotting after him like puppies, and he put an arm around each of them as he walked.

"Is that seriously how Tim would act if he'd been raised different?" Jason was laughing in the meantime, gesturing toward Jack. Tim, who would not have thought so but couldn't argue with the evidence, blushed again and tried to think of a sufficiently sarcastic reply.

"Everyone is happy," Cassandra sighed in contentment.

"They _ruined_ it, I _knew_ the children shouldn't have been in the wedding party," Damian was complaining, then looked taken aback when Duke said that ceremony had actually gone pretty well and then asked to hold the kitten. "Very well, but be _careful_ with her, Thomas."

"Dude, I'm not the one who had her stuffed in a pocket."

Bruce, with one arm around his new wife and his other hand clasped with his youngest son's, made his way through the cheering crowd under a rain of rose petals. It wasn't until his attendants started joining him that he realized how widely he was smiling.

o.o.o

 **A/N: _O_** **ne of the changes I'm going to make in later drafts is to have Damian call at least some of his older siblings by their (full) given names so that it won't be confusing for him to call the baby birds by their original surnames. I don't know exactly when this fic takes place, I'm thinking roughly a year after the birds' rescue. I don't know yet if I'll be able to include Ace in TBWS or not (I didn't know until recently that Ace is a current Wayne pet rather than a former one), but I figured it couldn't hurt to include him here. The reason this is a side-story rather than part of the main story is that I want to keep the fic as gen as possible on AO3, though I might later decide to make this an excised scene instead (not sure yet). I'm sorry about the hiatus (for real this time!), but all the wedding stuff means that I haven't had a chance to make much progress on my writing.**

I've had the idea for Bribe the kitten for a long time, but I wasn't planning to include it in the TBWSverse until my youngest sister's recent wedding. Watching my toddler niece be an adorably hilarious flower girl made me wonder how Bruce's wedding might go if his babiest birds were involved, and it gave me the chance to use all my other wedding headcanons, too.

In America, marriage laws vary from state to state. If all else fails, I assume that a couple could have whatever unofficial ceremony and officiant they want, and additionally have a courthouse wedding ceremony that will be the legally recognized one.


	91. Side-story: Convenient Kiss

The Birds Who Smile: Convenient Kiss

(rough draft)

A Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

A/N: Warning for mild spoilers because this is set far in the future.

o.o.o

Mar'i Grayson was three years old when she kissed one of her bird uncles for the first time.

"All right, Mar'i, say bye-bye," her father cooed in the foyer of Wayne Manor the morning after Thanksgiving, picking her up so she could better reach their relatives. Before he finished the gesture, she had floated out of his hold and settled into her grandfather's waiting arms. "Bye-bye, Grandpa Bruce," she said, squeezing her arms around his neck. She pronounced it like 'Gampa Boose.'

"Goodbye, Mar'i. I was very happy to have you here for Thanksgiving."

"Halloween and then Thanksgiving and then CHRISTMAS!" she cheered, then scrambled onto his shoulder and jumped off toward the next one.

"Oof," Tim half-grunted, half-laughed as he caught her. "Bye, Mar'i."

"Bye-bye, Uncle Timmy!" She hugged him and looked around for the next relative to say goodbye to, then paused. Uncle Jack was cooing goodbye to the baby in Mommy's tummy, and at the same time, Mommy was arched back, holding Uncle Jason's neck still with one arm so she could put a big loud kiss on his cheek.

"Cut it out, Kori!" Uncle Jason yelled, struggling, but Daddy was laughing. Teasing, then.

Mar'i looked for someone to tease, too, and Uncle John was closest. He wasn't as fun to tease because he was like Daddy and thought it was all funny, but he would probably still be good to kiss. "Bye-bye, Uncle John!" Mar'i called, and dove to smack her lips against his cheek like Mommy was doing to Uncle Jason.

Mar'i went very still and dropped to the ground; John's hands darted out to steady her.

"Mar'i? What's wrong, sweetie?" Dick asked, as everyone else looked at the little girl in concern.

Looking a little dazed, she finally raised her hands and signed, _"My head feels weird."_

Everyone stared. Mar'i knew a bit of ASL from her parents trying to get in the habit of teaching her, but she had only just started learning, which didn't match her sudden easy signing.

 _"Oh no,"_ John twittered to himself without thinking, moving to check her over, _"Little Star is sick maybe/maybe-not? Was good but now-"_

 _"Okay okay okay!"_ Mar'i twittered impatiently, pushing him away. _"Feel better now."_ She shook her head to finish clearing it, tossing her drifting dark hair.

"Wait, WHAT?!"

"Did she just-?!"

Peter pushed closer and demanded in full bird language, _"Little Star say bird words now, yes no yes?!"_

The child's face lit up as she realized she could understand him perfectly. She twittered back, lisping with her baby mouth but fluent despite the accent, _"Bird-me like bird-you bird-him bird-him!"_ she said triumphantly, pointing to each of her uncles in turn.

"No waaaaaayyyyyy!" The adults were all laughing in amazement.

As Jack crouched down and started signing to Mar'i, who signed back with childish fluency, Dick and Kori looked at each other. "But I thought your family already knew of this Tamaranean ability, yes?"

"I didn't even think- Gosh, this really is the first time she's kissed any of the birds, huh!"

 _"Sounds like baby new-bird [warble],"_ John teased.

"Whistling is hard when you're young," Jack grumbled. He suddenly realized that Bruce was filming, as the man always did in pursuit of his goal to decipher his youngest sons' private language. (Bruce had figured out about 20% of it, but it was slow going when they all refused to help except to laugh at his mangled attempts to speak it. He was pretty sure they didn't realize that their unwitting acknowledgment of his mistakes was itself helpful.) _"Little Star,"_ Jack twittered, _"bird language is secret, secret! Just us only."_

 _"Only?"_

Jack's eyes flicked to his father, shoulders slightly hunched in a mildly protective way. Any other child would have missed it, but Mar'i now recognized it for the non-verbal communication it was: _"It is secret/protected from Bruce-him."_

 _"Why can't we tell Grandpa?"_ Mar'i asked with her hands, proving that she'd understood.

"Body language, too!" Peter burst out, laughing.

"No wonder your head felt funny - _three_ new languages at once," Dick said fondly, ruffling his daughter's hair.

"I would suggest that she not kiss me or Father until she's older," Damian remarked. The sheer number of languages he and Bruce were fluent in would likely overwhelm anyone 'learning' them all at once, particularly if that person was only a few years old.

 _"Bird language for birds only,"_ John said smugly. _"Big people not allowed."_

 _"_ _You_ _are big person,"_ Mar'i pointed out.

 _"Wasn't when I learned to sing."_

"All right, all right, we really do need to go," Dick said, scooping up Mar'i again. "We'll play more with Uncle Birds next time, okay? Byyyye, everyone!"

Everyone called out goodbyes to the little family and followed them out the door. At the last moment, Kori tugged Jack close and kissed his temple. She paused for a moment to assimilate (she hadn't realized how _sad_ bird language could be sometimes...'goodbye,' for example, had connotations of 'I'll never see you again because you're dead,'), so she twittered instead, _"See you all soon, love you love you love you!"_

The family burst into laughter.


	92. Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 1

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 1 (rough draft)**

*This is a version of TBWS where, instead of bringing the birds into their family, the Bats hand them off to social services immediately upon returning home from the Batpocalypse and promptly forget about them until their paths happen to cross again seven years later.

 **Warnings for strong language and abuse.**

o.o.o

Red Hood did not play around when a child's life was on the line. He viciously incapacitated all but one of Penguin's goons, disarmed the last, and pressed his gun to the minion's head. The only reason he started the interrogation with a threat instead of at least one broken bone was because the guy was a freaking _kid_ , couldn't have been older than twelve or thirteen.

"Where's the girl?" Hood snarled.

The boy actually hissed at him like an animal. His shark-like teeth and somewhat pointed ears indicated he was probably a low-level meta of some kind. Because of signs of past Jokerization and the numerous scars he was covered with, including marks on his neck and wrists that suggested he'd been cruelly restrained for a long period of time, Hood would usually have been inclined to get him help, but not now, when a child was in danger thanks to this punk's employers.

"I'm not fucking around!" Hood shouted, slamming the boy up against the wall. "Delaney Gainesworth! Where is she?!"

"Dunno!" the boy shouted.

"Oh, you're gonna have to do better than that."

Despite everything, Hood hesitated to knock around a child who'd probably grown up being abused. Unfortunately, the kid didn't seem to be particularly threatened by guns, so Hood tried dragging him up to the roof, tying a grapple line around his ankles, and dangling him over the edge. (The kid didn't freaking _weigh_ as much as he ought to, either...)

The boy did scream and scrabble for something to hold onto, and, for some reason (related to the meta thing, maybe?), started screeching exactly like a distressed bird. What he did not do was cough up Delaney's location.

Nightwing showed up after a few minutes. "Whatcha got there?" He asked more grimly than usual due to the circumstances.

"Penguin goon." Hood added in sign language, _"I don't think he knows anything, though."_ Nightwing nodded and Hood hauled the boy back onto the roof, tossed him down, then pressed a knee into his back and a gun to his shoulder. The boy was crying by now, an utterly hopeless sound that made Hood's heart sort of twist. "Last chance, punk. Delaney Gainesworth. Tell me how to find her, and I'll give you $100. I'll throw you in kiddie jail if you don't."

The boy hesitated. Then, awkwardly because of his position, he signed, _"Money?"_

The vigilantes glanced at each other, unhappy that the boy knew ASL (though impressed that the kid had picked up on their brief silent communication while he'd been dangling 50 feet in the air).

"Yeah," Nightwing said, signing as he spoke. Hood turned the gun away and eased his hold a bit. "If you help us find the little girl, we'll give you money."

Unexpectedly, a flash of horror crossed the boy's face, then grim resignation. _"Bad you, do not hurt scared child."_ His signing was odd, as if he'd picked up the vocabulary from somewhere but knew no grammar and never practiced with fluent signers.

"We're not gonna hurt her!" Hood exclaimed, wondering if this kid had somehow managed to mistake the vigilantes for villains. "We're gonna take her _home_ to her parents."

The boy's face twisted angrily. _"You give child Batman. Fuck you."_

"Batman's going to give her to the police, who will give her to her-"

"NO!" the boy screeched, squirming under Hood. _"You bad Batman people help Batman, fuck you!"_ Tears were sliding down his face again, and his expression was twisted with rage. Then he screeched at them with more bird sounds.

The vigilantes looked at each other again. "Hey," Nightwing said gently, still signing in case the boy was hard of hearing or had some other comprehension issue that made signing easier than speaking. "What's your name?"

The boy made a warbling sound, looking defiant.

"...Okay then, Warble. Nice to meet you. I'm Nightwing."

 _"Batman bitch."_

Hood burst into laughter. "Not too far off."

"Shut up, Hood. Hey, Warble. Look, I know Batman is some kind of bogeyman, but he only goes after bad guys, people who hurt other people. He wants to _help_ innocent people, especially kids. All we want is for Delaney to be safe so that Penguin doesn't hurt her or kill her."

Warble twisted to look up at Hood. _"He lie, or stupid?"_

"Either way, forget Bats if you hate him so much. Will you tell the police where to find Delaney if you won't tell us?"

"No."

Hood shoved the kid's head back against the roof. "So you _want_ that girl to die?"

"Penguin kill quick," the boy hissed. He had a strange accent, too, that sounded more like it was from an impairment rather than a birth language other than English. "Batman lock kids in cages, torture 'em 'til they wanna die but he don't let 'em. Penguin better."

"What the hell?" Hood muttered.

"Batman doesn't do that, he would never!" Nightwing cried.

"You Batman' bitch. You like turn kids to birds, too?"

Before Nightwing could figure out how to even answer that, Damian's voice came through their comms. _"The Gainesworth girl has been recovered, we're waiting tor law enforcement to collect her. Batman is wiping up the last of the kidnappers."_

"Thanks, Xu'ffasch," Nightwing said.

 _"What are we going to do with this bird?"_ Jason asked in Arabic, hoping that Warble didn't know that one, too.

 _"If we take him to B, we will have a new little brother,"_ Dick responded in the same language.

When the vigilantes burst into laughter, Warble made a startled crowing sound and then hissed.

"Orphanage?" Dick suggested when he stopped laughing.

"Hey, kid," Hood said. "You got any family?"

"...No." The quiet, bitter way he said it meant that even if he was lying, he might as well have not been.

"Orphanage it is."

They remotely called a car, one of the nondescript ones. Nightwing used the wait to get a DNA sample from Warble and send it to the Batcomputer for analysis, in hopes of eventually getting the boy's identity. Warble put up a fight, but once he'd been handcuffed, he submitted quietly and sullenly to being forced into the car's back seat.

"We don't both need to take him," Jason pointed out.

"You're right. It should be you, he likes you better."

"What?!"

"He thinks I'm Batman's bitch, remember?"

"You just don't want to babysit." Still, Hood didn't argue much about getting into the driver's seat as Nightwing grappled away.

After about five minutes of malevolent glaring, during which time it had started to drizzle, Warble spoke up. "You like Batman? You hate 'im?"

Jason had to be careful about this. There were times when it was useful to be known as an ally of Batman, and others when it was definitely not. "Depends on the week. I decided to give him a hand on the Gainesworth case but trust me, there are plenty of times when I want to shoot him in the head."

"Please."

"What? Please shoot Batman in the head?"

"Yes."

"Hah. Maybe someday, but not tonight, kid."

"Please. Kill 'im. Suck your dick if you do."

" _God_ , kid, don't you know anything about Red Hood? I blow out the brains of people who fuck kids."

"Wha' 'bout people who touch kids but don' fuck 'em?"

"I shoot those bastards, too."

"Good. Shoot Batman. He that touch kids bastard."

Jason frowned. Bruce could be a terrible person sometimes, but he would never in a million years do anything like that. "How do you know?"

"Touched me. My brothers. Tied us down an' hurt us 'til we foun' the out. Bastard kept changing what it was."

Jason worked to swallow down his rage. "...How d'you know it was the real Batman? Lots of people have impersonated him. Could've been a random pedo in a bat costume."

"No costume when he hurt us. Mostly."

"You know what Bats looks like under the mask?"

"Bruce Wayne," Warble hissed. Even if Jason hadn't been trained to not react, he would have had no time to before the boy added, "Joker."

"What's Bruce Wayne got to do with Joker?"

"'t's HIM. He _laughs_.

"Yeah, Joker does that," Jason said bitterly.

" _So does Bat_! Laughs to hurt bird boys!"

Jason was starting to wonder if this kid wasn't quite sane. "How about this, I'll shoot or punch anyone who tries to hurt you on my watch. And if you quit working for Penguin and clean up your act, I'll take your case. I'll make the bastard who hurt you pay."

"...Red Hood."

"Yeah?"

"Why you help Batman? Nigh'wing his bitch, Xu'ffa' his son, Red Robin _rot in hell_ , but you free and good. Why?"

"...We don't always agree. But he helped me out when I was a kid, and I just...I don't want to be one of his lackeys, but it would be dumb to cut ties altogether. Batman's more useful as an ally than an enemy."

Warble didn't answer. After a while, Jason asked, "Who are your brothers?"

"...[ _chirp-chirp_ ] an' [ _caw_ ]." They were spot-on bird noises even though he'd included them in the sentence as if they were words. "Don' know real names."

Well, that was...weird. "They still alive?"

Warble glared suspiciously. "Where we goin'?"

"Somewhere safe." Even as the words left his mouth, Jason suddenly remembered that Warble hated Bruce Wayne and might object to-

Too late. The Martha Wayne Children's Shelter was already in sight. Almost on cue, the boy started shrieking as soon as he saw the huge, fancy W glowing over the entrance.

"YOU GIMME T' WAYNE, FUCK YOU, LEMME OUT, LEMME _OUT_!"

"Hey, kid! Hey!"

Warble wouldn't stop screaming and thrashing and clawing at the child-locked door, so Jason pulled away from the curb again. They'd been driving tor five minutes before the boy's screams finally faded to sobs. "Hey. Can you hear me now?"

"Fuck you," The boy wailed brokenly.

"Listen. I'm not gonna take you there, okay? I _won't_. But I gotta leave you somewhere, and honestly, Wayne places are the only ones in this city I trust. I don't want to drop you off somewhere else where there's a good chance you'll get abused, trafficked, or recruited, you understand me?"

"...Take me home."

"Where's home?"

"Crime Alley."

"A real address on Crime Alley, or a cardboard box behind a dumpster?"

"Momma."

"So you _do_ have family."

"Yeah."

Warble asked to be let off down the street, and the only reason Jason agreed was because he planned to tail the kid. When he caught up, he found the boy, who was flinching away from the rainwater trickling from the roof's edge, knocking at the dilapidated back door of a house. For a while, it looked like no one was going to answer. Warble, shoulders slumped, was just trudging toward a doghouse in a corner of the yard when the door suddenly flew open. "Where have you BEEN?!" a woman screeched.

"Long job," Warble said sullenly.

"Yeah? Where's the money for it?" she challenged.

"None," Warble said, sighing deeply. "Bats came." He was already stripping out of his clothes. He stood naked and shivering in the rain as the woman thoroughly searched his garments and found nothing of value. She hurled his pants back at him. "Get in there," she snarled. "You're not goin' ta bed 'til the house is spotless."

"Sandwich first?" He pleaded, and Jason kicked himself for not offering to get the kid any food before dropping him off.

"You eat when you _earn_ it, you little freak, and from where I'm standin', you owe me a hell of a lot more than a sandwich. Get your ass in there."

Warble was soon scrubbing the kitchen as the woman went to smoke and doze off in front of the TV in the cluttered, dirty living room.

Jason crouched there in the rain, conflicted and nearly shaking with directionless anger. Warble needed to get _out_ of there, but with the way he hated anything associated with Bruce Wayne, there was nowhere safe for him to go. The woman, despite the general mistreatment, hadn't abused him in a way the law would recognize except to withold food, and Warble was even now furtively slipping bites into his mouth as he cleaned the refrigerator.

With other crimes clamoring in Jason's ear, he reluctantly left, intending to look into getting Warble a better home once they figured out who he was.

TBC

A/N: Wrangling this story was like pulling teeth! I got really inspired for individual scenes, but then when I was trying to write them down and organize them into a cohrent story, my internal editor kept going, over and over and over again, "Nope, that won't work for *insert practical reason here*." Sorry if the end result is choppy; it was way way way worse before I figured out a continuous sequence of events. *sweatdrop*

Sorry also that I haven't been writing much. I have a Writing Muse and a To Do Muse; lately, the To Do Muse seems to be stronger. I've been working on real life projects rather than writing; the majority of this story was tapped out on my tablet a few minutes at a time during my breaks at work. Hopefully I'll have more time to write soon!


	93. Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 2

_The Birds Who Smile_ , a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 2 (rough draft)

 **A/N: Warning for violence.**

o.o.o

The Waynes stared at the Batcomputer's screen in shock. The DNA test results reported that Warble was a complete match for Timothy Drake. "Is he a clone?" Dick wondered as Bruce pulled up a still shot from Red Hood's patrol footage and a photo of Tim from his early days at the manor for comparison.

To all appearances, it was the same boy. Warble _looked_ exactly like Tim would if he'd been Jokerized and raised on the darkest streets of Gotham. The only reason Dick and Jason hadn't recognized him was because they hadn't been looking for a resemblance.

"What are we going to do about this?" Damian demanded, looking disturbed.

"First we find out where the hell he came from," Tim said grimly, pulling up records and news articles as searches worked in the background.

"We need to find proper caretakers for him," Bruce muttered, working on his own research.

With the Waynes' other responsibilities and open cases, the searches went slowly, and it didn't help that Warble was not officially connected in any way to the woman whose house he slept in. It was hard to track him before he'd fallen in with Penguin; as a street kid in an area of town with comparatively few cameras, he seemed to have showed up out of nowhere. Searching for information on Timothy Drake was only bringing up material about their own Drake-Wayne, and the laboratories Bruce looked into, despite being involved in other sketchy business, were dead ends as far as potentially creating clones of Tim.

Over the next few days, the Bats kept tabs on Warble himself. He worked like a slave in his 'momma's' house, apparently in exchange for little more than a roof over his head; ran a couple of messages for Penguin's men; boosted tires efficiently enough to impress even Jason; and usually spent at least an hour a day at the public library, researching the Waynes and the Bats and grimly practicing the ASL vocabulary videos he looked up on YouTube.

One day, Tim tried stepping into his path. "Hey. So I hear you're my clone or something." At the sight of him, Warble's face twisted with rage. He spat, and Tim had to move quickly to avoid the gross projectile. "You know, what I find interesting is that you act like you _know_ me."

"You steal my name my face my life MINE! Go die!"

"Why is it that everyone always hates you on first sight, Timmy?" Jason laughed, ambling up to join him. "You're actually a pretty cool guy."

"Thanks, bro," Tim deadpanned.

Warble, meanwhile, suddenly looked nervous. He backed up a few steps, eyes darting around and up. When he saw Damian loitering down the street, he fled.

The Bats gave chase; Damian dropped down in front of Warble in an alley to cut off his route. The child immediately switched back, but Jason and Tim had caught up with him by then. Looking desperate, Warble threw himself at the wall and managed to claw his way up a quarter of it before he fell and landed in Jason's arms.

"Hey. We're not gonna hurt you, we just want to talk."

"Ba'man Ba'man Ba'man Ba'man," Warble started whispering in panic, twisting and struggling as he tried to get free and look around wildly.

"Batman's not here. He's not gonna get you, okay?"

" _Wayne_ , no _Wayne_!" Then he started crying out frantically in bird sounds again.

"Let him go," Cassandra ordered when she came up to join them. "Too scared."

Jason reluctantly released the boy, who darted out of sight.

"He knew who we were," Tim said slowly. "As the Waynes, possibly as...the others. He thought B was here." (Bruce had known better than to accompany them in person, but he was listening through the comms.)

"Who _is_ this kid?!"

The mystery was solved that night, when they tried looking up records of Joker victims.

"The Batpocalypse," Tim murmured, staring at his screen. "He was one of _them_? The man-eating Robins?"

Bruce's heart was beating quickly, because something had occurred to him (other than the crushing guilt of getting those creatures off his hands without bothering to perform any basic tests; those had been _his sons_ , those had been _his children_ he'd just blithely given away, it was _Tim_ and _Dick_ and _Jason_ and he'd failed them all over again, all over again...!).

The older boys, the ones who resembled a Jokerized young Dick Grayson and Jason Todd. They had been given to social services along with the youngest boy. Where were they now?

While Bruce was looking that up, Tim was reading through the records of what had happened to his younger self. The child had been institutionalized for six months and then released into foster care at age seven. (On his alternate universe refugee paperwork, his age had been estimated based on his physical evaluations, and his 'birthday' matched the date of the newspaper where a grainy image of him and his 'brothers' had first appeared. His legal name was Tim Dake, as if whoever had been in charge of recording it had done a straight transcription of the child's mispronunciation.)

Young Tim had gone through three placements in four years. Reading between the lines gave the impression that the child had probably been abused and neglected in at least two of the homes. The last official record of him was a missing person report when he'd presumably run away at age eleven. It had been seven years since Barbados's attack on the multiverse; the boy would be thirteen now.

Meanwhile, Bruce had discovered, to his horror, that the other Robins had been permanently institutionalized at Arkham Juvenile Detention Center. He hadn't even known they'd been sent to a mental hospital at all. Arkham was for the criminally insane, but these children weren't _criminals_ , they- Yes, they'd killed people, but they had been brainwashed and tortured, forced to kill by a sadistic madman.

Yet they'd been placed at the detention center within less than a week of leaving the Bats, and they were _still there_.

"My God," Tim said bleakly.

Bruce stared at the day old security footage of the nameless teenagers. (No one had ever bothered to run DNA tests on them, though even if they had, it would have matched nothing in the system, since Bruce kept his family's sensitive data heavily secured.)

The older John Doe lay naked and unbound on the floor in a bare suicide watch cell. He did not move at all except for when orderlies periodically came in to force-feed him, force medication into him, force exercise on him, or deal with his waste. The sixteen-year-old reacted to none of it, not even when some of the orderlies took the opportunity to mock and abuse him. It was like he had no mind and no soul, just an empty body subject to the wishes of its captors.

The younger John Doe was in a small, padded cell, bound with a straitjacket, headgear that included a muzzle, and cuffs around his ankles. When he wasn't lying in a stupor or slurping up liquid meals, he was screaming and hurling himself against the walls, sometimes for hours on end.

"We have to get them out of there," Bruce said faintly. _'Dick. Jason.'_ Even if it wasn't them, even if they were total strangers, they didn't deserve this torture. Bruce should have made sure they were properly taken care of from the beginning, not just expected the best simply because the social workers who'd taken the little Robins years ago had been smiling and seemed kind. "I'm a _fool_."

o.o.o.o.o

The arrangements had been made. The younger Dick and the younger Jason - whom the Waynes had begun calling by their middle names to distinguish them from their counterparts - were slated to be moved to Wayne facilities.

Bruce had a detailed plan for their rehabilitation. It frustrated him to know that he couldn't personally take the boys under his wing, but if Jackson's reaction to the Bats and the Wayne name was any indication, the Robins probably remembered unfortunate details from their captivity in their homeworld, and Bruce's proximity would only make things worse.

 _'It's all right, though. As long as they're safe and well-cared for, they don't need to be with me. All that matters is that they're safe...'_

Of course Joker would pick that night to break out of the main Arkham facility, target the juvenile detention branch for hostages, and hole up with them in an abandoned toy factory on the edge of town. Of course John and Peter would be among the hostages. Because this was Gotham, so _of course_.

o.o.o.o.o

Something wasn't right. Joker had said he would call in with his next set of demands hours ago, but there had been no word from him, not even any wordless messages, gruesome or otherwise. Swarms of law enforcement had laid siege to the factory; the Bats were cautiously making their way in. They were occasionally startled by random, aimlessly wandering hostages, but there was no sign of Joker or his henchmen.

 _"Heads up,"_ Barbara warned, _"Bird 3 slipped past the police and got into the building."_

 _"What the heck, why?! How?!"_

 _"Must've been following the news,"_ Red Robin pointed out. _"He...might've seen his opportunity to help the other birds."_

Red Hood, his back creeping, was the first one to find the right level. He stared for a moment, then sent a message to his siblings only. "It's...fine. Everything's okay now. Just stall Batman for me, will you?"

 _"Why? What's the situation, Hood?"_

 _"Are John and Peter okay?!"_

"They're fine. Can't talk; just hold him off, please."

 _"Joker's dead, isn't he."_

Jason muted his comm without answering.

There was such a huge quantity of blood and gore that it didn't even look real. Henchmen were scattered, some lying still and silent where they'd been mauled, others whimpering in corners as they nursed wounds that looked like shark bites. The few hostages that remained in the room, like their fellows on the lower floors, wandered aimlessly, mostly unhurt.

John sat by the purple-suited corpse, coated with blood that didn't seem to be his. He was gazing into the distance, one hand idly occupied with something the way one would play with a booger. Upon further inspection, the thing turned out to be a chunk of squishy flesh, possibly part of a tongue. Maybe a tonsil.

"You okay, Johnny?" Jason asked quietly. Then, remembering that this boy would have responded to a different name once upon a time, "Dickie?"

John paused and blinked slowly, his eyes dragging themselves toward Jason. "...Ddd'ckkkiie," he finally murmured.

"Yeah. Dick John Grayson. John, that's you. Right?"

The only answer was a bit of soft birdsong. Jason nodded and turned when his own young counterpart came eagerly bounding up to the body. Peter slammed down the hammer he had found, wrenched free another one of Joker's ribs, and galloped off with it, howling a melody as he hurled the rib out the window. Jackson was chasing after his brother, looking exasperated and tense as he tried to get Peter's attention, casting occasional nervous glances at Jason.

"Okay. Geez, what a mess... Okay. Listen. I have to get you chickadees out of here."

John turned from a ghost to a beast when Jason tried to move him - he shrieked and scratched and bit until Jackson rushed over, at which point John latched onto him and quieted immediately, his face going slack. He moved like a zombie, clinging to his youngest brother and stumbling. Jason held on to Jackson's arm, and though the thirteen-year-old snarled and cussed at him, John didn't seem to be bothered.

"Okay...that's two out of three; oi, JASON! Get your crazy ass over here!"

Wrangling Peter was harder - Jason finally had to hack off a chunk of Joker and entice his younger self with it like it was bait. Peter followed, grabbing playfully at the severed ear. Hood felt like a grisly sort of pied piper as he made his slow way down to the ground floor, waving the ear, jerking Jackson along, and making sure John didn't lose his grip and get left behind. "Okay, almost there, almost there..."

Red Robin had complied with Hood's request and had a car waiting for them. Peter immediately dove for the bottles of nutrition shakes sitting on the back seat; Jackson, still cursing and twittering, spat at Hood and then started fighting his brother for a shake; John got dragged in his wake and collapsed at his brothers' feet, still lifeless except for how tightly he was clinging to their legs.

Hood shut the door on them and got into the driver's seat with a sigh. "Okay, off we go..."

TBC

A/N: See AO3 for more Breezy art!


	94. Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 3

The Birds Who Smile, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl  
Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 3 (rough draft)

A/N: HEY, SO. I no longer have any word processor that preserves my formatting (I do have a new copy of MS Office, but I can't install it yet because I still don't know whether or not I'll have to exchange my new computer for one that's aware that its OS is, in fact, legit *sigh*), so  
**THIS CHAPTER LOST ALL ITS ITALICS**!  
Please keep that in mind as you read and wonder why certain words that would sound better emphasized are not, and why the dialogue in non-English languages is not distinguished in any way.

o.o.o

Jason pulled up in front of one of his safehouses in a middle-class area of town. None of the birds were asleep, but they were all slumped, quiet and glassy-eyed, worn out from their ordeals.

"Okay, kiddos. Out of the car, we're home." When he circled around and opened the car door, Peter screamed and tried to bite him. Jackson looked like the only reason he wasn't running was because his brothers wouldn't be able to keep up. John looked basically dead, except for the tight grip he had on his brothers' sleeves.

Jason eventually got them out by bribing Peter with a small piece of chocolate and bodily scooping out John once Peter was clear; Jackson was dragged along. The youngest boy was nervous and twitchy as Jason unlocked the door, turned on the lights, and herded them all in.

It was a small two-bedroom house. The younger boys immediately set off in opposite directions to explore and were brought up short by John's grip. His head hung as he silently stood stretched between them in almost a crucifixion pose until his brothers held a twittered conference and then headed toward the kitchen as a group. None of them had spoken any recognizable language since they'd been reunited.

"You can have some more shakes, but let's wait on real food." Jason handed the birds another set of nutrient-rich drinks and then ushered them toward the bathroom. "You guys are disgusting and filthy, and tracking Joker's blood all over my safehouse is not acceptable. Bathtime."

"Look but don' touch?" Jackson taunted him bitterly.

"Not like that kid, come on. If any of you want help, I'll give it. You don't, I'll stay out 'til you're dressed. Pete, don't eat the soap; seriously?"

The sound of running bathwater prompted John to blink and then curl up on the floor with his hands over his head, keening softly in fear.

"Hey, Johnny, it's okay. No one's gonna hurt you; Jackson - Warble - is right here to make sure. You hear me?"

He tried picking up John's hand and easing it into the water to demonstrate that it was comfortably warm, but John didn't respond, and when Jason looked at his face, the teen looked like he'd completely checked out. "Geez... Jack, help me."

He directed Jackson to scrub the dried blood from John's body with a washcloth as Jason worked on his hair. Peter, meanwhile, had thrown off his clothes, yanked the knob to seal the tub drain, and was now giggling as he crouched in the steadily rising water.

Jason didn't have time to deal with him. Once John was clean, Jason hauled him out and wrapped him in towels. "I'm gonna go get some clothes for you guys," he told Jackson, who kept eyeing him warily as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

By the time he came back, Peter had contentedly fallen asleep in the tub full of warm, nasty bathwater. He woke up and shrieked in protest when Jason unplugged the drain, then snatched the shower head when Jason pulled it down and hugged it to his chest.

He wouldn't let go. Jason, with a lot of internal deep sighs, managed to wash the teen's hair and rinse out the shampoo with water from the sink, then ran a washcloth over the remaining loosened grime on his younger self's body. Peter seemed to have no objection, but he refused to relinquish the shower head. Jason looked at Jack and threw up his arms in exasperation; the younger boy made a soft noise of amusement.

It was only when goosebumps began to rise on Peter's back and he started shivering that he finally began to look uncertain. Even then, he curled around the shower head, desperate for the warm water still flowing down his front even as the shivering from his cold back increased.

Jason unfolded a towel and dangled it invitingly. Peter eyed it, considering. Jackson shut the water off, and Peter screeched. He fumbled at the faucet again, but Jason managed to get the towel over him before he could turn the water back on. Peter hugged the towel desperately like he'd been hugging the shower head; Jason pulled him out of the tub and tossed another towel over him like a blanket. "There. You're not gonna be cold if you let go, I promise."

Jason then dressed John. The teen had finally come out of his dissociative episode, but was still as motionless as a doll. Jason helped Peter into a set of clothes, too (T-shirts and boxers fresh out of a package; all his pants were too big for them), then looked at Jack. "You want these guys in here or out there while you shower?"

"Scram," Jackson said, with less heat than usual.

"Okay. Call if they cause trouble." Jason made sure there was another outfit and a fresh towel laid out for the youngest boy, then left, shutting the door on the three birds.

He busied himself in the kitchen, warming up some soup, until the boys came out again, Peter galloping around in curiosity and Jackson pulling an unresponsive John along. All three soon clustered in the kitchen, practically drooling at the smell of soup.

"Easy on the solids for a while," Jason warned his younger self, who'd been kept on a mostly-liquid diet at the asylum. Peter hissed at him, but set upon the soup eagerly when a bowl of it was set before him.

Peter slurped up his entire serving in about one minute and then made a grab for Jackson's. The younger boy launched himself half across the table to close his jaws over Peter's shoulder in a warning bite. In seconds, it had degenerated into a bloody wolf battle. John sat still and silent, food untouched, as Jason, who was fortunately still wearing body armor, struggled to keep the younger ones apart.

Peter ended up in a corner, gnawing on a paperback book like a freaking dog as John listlessly clung to him; Jackson was storming up and down, raging in a mix of bird language, English, and ASL.

"This is nuts," Jason muttered.

Peter soon fell asleep right there on the floor. When Jason made to take a blanket over, Jackson raced to intercept, cursing at him until Jason retreated. Jackson grabbed a couple of totally different blankets and covered his brothers with them. Then he sat there, staring belligerently at Jason.

"...I'm not gonna hurt you guys."

"You sell us?" Jackson asked in sign language.

"What?"

"No money."

"Look, I don't mind giving out money to desperate people, but I'm not gonna drop a hundred bucks in your hand every time you ask."

"No," Jackson said aloud, impatiently. "We got no money. Whatchu want for this?" He gestured around at the house. "You touch 'em," he nodded at his brothers, "I kill you. You change your min' 'bout fuckin' me, don' let 'em see."

"Quit offering, I will shoot anyone who touches you, Jackie."

The boy narrowed his eyes.

"Your middle name's Jackson, right?"

"..."

Jason knew that street kids would never believe in getting something for nothing, unless it was more obviously charity than this; sometimes not even then. "Anyway, I know you have no money, and I don't put up with scum who sell or use kids. I used to be a street kid myself - I swore I'd help other kids so they wouldn't be as bad off as I was. If you're so grateful, though, I could use a set of little eyes and ears, someone who can go unnoticed where I can't. You pick up any interesting tidbits, you pass along the info to me. Got it?"

Jackson relaxed slightly. "Li'l spy."

"If you're up for it."

"Yes boss."

Jason shifted. It was going to be a long, boring night; he was basically on babysitting duty, since he didn't feel comfortable leaving the troubled teens alone and there was no one else he knew whom they'd tolerate keeping an eye on them. "You want some real food? Couldn't offer it earlier, I know Pete would've thrown a fit that he can't have any." Jackson frowned again. "Peter," Jason clarified, pointing. "That's his middle name. And zombie over there is John."

Jackson turned his frown onto his brothers and made chirping and cawing sounds. John twitched, but otherwise didn't react.

"Oi," Jason asked curiously as he went to the kitchen, "is that a language? All the bird sounds. Are you just twittering for the heck of it, or are you actually saying stuff?"

Jackson didn't answer, instead starting to get to his feet, brought up short by John's fist tightening in his shirt, and sinking back down again in resignation. "Whatchu makin'?"

"Just pasta. Quick and easy."

Jason got busy with his task, and calling across half the house was kind of a pain, so he didn't speak again until he came over to serve the meal. He handed the heartier serving to Jackson, who wolfed it down, and the plainer pasta to John, who ignored it.

"Come on, buddy," Jason coaxed. "I mashed it up so it'll be easier on your stomach. Just a few bites."

Jackson, watching keenly, smacked Jason's hand away before it reached John's face, but then he took up the bowl and started to spoon bites into John's mouth himself, coaxing in bird language. John's mouth and throat worked very slowly, his eyes distant for a minute. Then his focus sharpened a little and, though he made no move to feed himself, he was a little more cooperative in accepting what his little brother offered.

Jason felt weird as he watched. In a way, this was him and his own brothers, a faint creepy resemblance paired with jarring differences. He would never cuddle in a pile like this with Dick and Tim. He had never imagined that vivacious, sunny Dick could be so shattered, or that aristocratic, aloof Tim could be so street-hardened and mother-henning all at once. John acted like a telepath had broken his mind; Jackson like he'd been ground into the cracks in the pavement of Gotham's dark streets; Peter, whimpering in his sleep, like he'd gone feral. Jason had experienced his own share of suffering, but his family and his future...they looked weirdly bright compared to the devastated young lives before him.

An hour later, Jason was working on his laptop when his younger self awakened with a chilling scream. Jackson tried to soothe him, but Peter kept screaming, and Jason went over to try his hand. Peter seemed to relax at his touch and actually leaned into him, but then Jason noticed that John, although still staring into space, had silent tears streaming down his cheeks and was shaking, breath coming in gasps. "Aw, crap. Johnny, hey, nothing's wrong, Pete just had a nightmare."

There was no response.

Jackson glared at Jason and ordered with his hands, "Look away."

Jason obeyed, still cradling Peter, who had nestled into him like a (very large) puppy. He peeked out of the corner of his eye and saw Jackson pressing against his older brother, crooning. After a moment, John's resistance broke and he collapsed onto his back on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Jackson carefully lay on him, heartbeat to heartbeat and palms to palms. He nuzzled his face into John's neck, still making those soothing bird noises. After several long minutes, John finally relaxed, eyes drifting shut.

Jackson exhaled softly, then glanced at Jason and realized that the vigilante was now staring at him openly. He leaped up and back with a hiss. "We're not fuckin'!"

"I know. It's fine. He was having a panic attack, you know how to calm him down."

Jackson stared at him warily, like he wasn't used to people not automatically making dirty assumptions.

"You did good."

After a minute, Jackson plopped down on the floor and muttered something in bird language. Peter popped out of Jason's lap and romped over to his younger brother, grabbing him and manhandling him in a worried inspection. Jackson looked too tired to resist. They twittered back and forth for a long time, almost half an hour, before Jackson drifted to sleep with his head pillowed on Peter's leg.

Peter looked up at Jason and motioned proudly, not in ASL but in gestures that reminded Jason of the way Cass 'spoke' most naturally, "Mine, my treasure; isn't he wonderful?"

"He's pretty amazing, surviving everything he did." And then, because any Jason Todd from any universe could use all the encouragement he could get, "You're amazing, too, Jay."

Peter studied him thoughtfully. "We in small bad places; you out? Safe?"

"You're never going back to Arkham again. We just want to help you guys."

"Good you, I don't know why." Peter turned his attention back to his sleeping little brother, and Jason resumed working.

TBC

A/N: I'm sorry for the delay... I have been working on this fic a little bit at a time every day during my breaks at work, but I was having so many digital issues and real life stuff going on that it took aaaaaaaaaalllllllll this time for me to have a chance to get the drafts off my tablet and onto a reliable computer to work on. (I have an appointment this weekend with a specialist to recover all the data on one of my flash drives. I think my USB hub needs to be replaced, it's old and I should have thought to buy a new one when I bought new flash drives a couple of weeks ago.) The main story is still on hiatus, because things are so crazy and I've been stressed and frustrated.


	95. Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 4

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 4 (rough draft)**

A/N: ...Wow, I'm a dummy...I realized how I could have uploaded the previous chapter with italics and stuff after all. X''D Oh well; I'll fix it someday. **  
**

o.o.o

Peter soon got bored. After watching Jason curiously for a while, he said something thick and garbled.

"Sorry, mini me, I can't understand you. I got something you can try, though." He started teaching the teen ASL, and the Peter took to it with delight. He practiced even after Jason got too tired to keep teaching and took a nap.

The vigilante was awakened when his phone alerted him to the movement of the birds' trackers, and opened his eyes to find Jackson heading for the bathroom with John hanging onto his shirt. Peter veered off to the kitchen, grabbed a can of green beans from a cabinet, and started pounding on the lid with a spoon. Jason, not wanting to fight him over it, took different cans out of the cabinets and warmed up the contents for breakfast. Peter abandoned his own project and eagerly tried to scoop bits of food out of the pot.

Jason wrinkled his nose at the boy's smell. "Pete, did you just pee your pants?"

Peter went still. He looked down at himself as if only just noticing what he had done, then at the bathroom door his brothers were emerging from. His face went red and stricken.

"It's okay, Jay," Jason said, as gently as he could when he was internally raging at his younger self's former 'caretakers.' "No big deal, I have more clothes. Sort of. More boxers in the package, anyway; I gotta get you guys some pants."

Peter was quiet and subdued in the bathroom while Jason helped him rinse off. He acted at first like he expected to be changed into fresh clothes like a baby, but when Jason stepped back after handing him a clean shirt and new set of boxers, Peter hesitated. Slowly, as if exercising a long-dormant skill, he fumbled with the cloth until he'd managed to get himself dressed. He looked at his older self anxiously.

Jason made sure he already had an encouraging smile on his face. "Awesome job. You got this."

Peter giggled uncertainly.

"Now let's go get breakfast."

"BBEKKFFFSS!" Peter bellowed as he ran to the kitchen.

Jackson, who'd been digging in a lower cabinet at the far end of the kitchen, backed away with a guilty look on his face. Jason ignored him in favor of guarding the food (soft and mushy for the sake of the older boys' stomachs) from Peter until he'd gotten it properly in bowls. Peter fell upon his share instantly, shoving as much into his mouth as would fit, and an exasperated Jason had to pull it away again and dole it out bit by bit.

Jackson was wolfing his breakfast as well, with a grim, distant look on his face that suggested he didn't like it but had learned to never waste nutrients. John seemed more interested in hanging onto his brothers than eating.

Once Peter had calmed down, Jason turned his attention to coaxing the oldest bird into swallowing bites. Peter hovered nearby and seemed torn between compulsively eating the food still left on the table and knowing that it was meant for someone he loved who needed it more. He compromised by slipping small bits into his mouth in between his own twittered coaxing and offered morsels.

John endured being fed for a few minutes. Then, apparently reaching his limit, he shoved away the next offered bite, smacked the bowl halfway across the room, violently upended the table and kicked his chair away, then seized his brothers and forcibly retreated with them into a corner. Jackson whistled a single inquiring note, and John burst into world-drowning screams, eyes squeezed shut. His brothers both covered their ears with their hands and hunkered down, prepared to wait it out, and Jason contemplated looking for headphones as he cleaned up. John screamed for five minutes straight and then slumped down, dead to the world, eyes half-closed and fists still clenched in his brothers' shirts.

An hour passed, during which Jason set up a cartoon on his tablet for the younger birds and then snatched another nap. He awakened to twittering sounds, Jackson and Peter bird-speaking and signing to John, who finally seemed present, but tired and uninterested in getting up, letting go, or responding.

"How are we doing?" Jason asked wearily as he approached. Tim had texted him, saying that Bruce had calmed down a bit and that Dick was impatient to meet the birds, particularly his younger self. Jason was so tired that he was seriously considering letting Dick have a babysitting turn, or maybe Cass if John turned out to hate his older counterpart as much as Jackson did. Jason wanted to help the lost little teenagers, but the current arrangement was not sustainable long-term, and he didn't have much idea how he was going to get the boys into the care of people both he and they trusted.

"Go outside?" Jackson asked in a testing sort of way.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Jackster. Maybe tonight, after sundown."

"Batman?"

"He's keeping his distance. I won't let him near you if you don't want to see him."

"...[ _chirp-chirp_ ] broken."

"What?"

"[ _chirp-chirp_ ]." Jackson indicated his brother. "Broken. Wasn' like this before."

Jason mentally filed away the fact that the boys apparently had bird names for each other. Maybe 'Warble' really had been Jackson's. "Yeah, well...seven years in Arkham after however long being tortured by Bat-Joker'll do that to you."

"I take 'em. Outta your hair."

Jason deliberately showed no reaction, even though he felt an internal spike of panic at the suggestion that Jackson wanted to vanish into the depths of Gotham with his brothers. "You guys aren't in my hair, don't worry. I _want_ to make sure you're looked after, real food and warm beds, all that. I don't like seeing kids sleep on the street."

Jackson sighed a little and turned away. He tugged John to his feet so he could look around the house with his brother drifting in his wake, resigned to the fact that he was not allowed to leave John's side. Peter, constantly stopped short by the hand fisted in his shirt, complained about it more than the youngest bird did, but didn't fight it too hard. John didn't seem to give a flip about what was going on around him as long as he had tangible reassurance that his brothers were nearby.

At about midmorning, a knock on the door sent the younger boys scurrying for hiding places and John curling into a ball. Jason let in Leslie and called to the boys, "Guys, it's okay, it's just my friend Leslie."

Jack cautiously peered out. "...Doc?"

She smiled. "Hello, honey. It's good to see you again." At Jason's questioning look, she explained, "He's been to the clinic a couple of times. I didn't know his name until now."

"Why you here?" Jackson demanded.

"Tim, you've been virtually living on the streets for two years, and your brothers haven't been taken care of very well. I would like to see if there's anything I can do to help you."

Jackson had gone very still. "My name Tim," he said softly.

"Yes, I'll call you that if you like."

Since Jackson was still wary and Peter seemed agitated at the arrival of a stranger, Leslie examined John first, with both his brothers watching closely. John lay like a doll, eyes empty as Leslie worked. He wouldn't follow any instructions, even ones as simple as drawing in a deep breath, but she did her best.

Since John still wouldn't cooperate when it was time to get a urine sample, Jason had the extremely awkward job of holding the sixteen-year-old over the toilet, though Leslie's gentle but entirely businesslike manner helped a bit. "Bruce and I will both do our own analyses," she said as Jason worked John's boxers back on. "Poor thing," she added in a murmur, lightly running her fingertips through the teen's hair. He blinked slowly and turned his face slightly toward her hand, so she scratched gently at his scalp.

Jason finished safety-pinning the waistband snug around John's narrow figure, then exhaled and braced his fists on the sink, glad that the boy was still wearing his shirt and didn't need to be dressed in that, too. Jason looked up at the younger boys, who were still watching intently. "You guys can pee in a cup without help, right?"

 _"Pee in cup,"_ Jackson signed warily.

"Yeah, so we can see what they drugged up Pete and Johnny on, and if any of you guys have diseases or deficiencies and stuff."

The boys twittered to each other for a few minutes. Then Peter huffed and signed at Jason, _"Food."_

"If you're good for Leslie, you'll get more food."

Peter grumbled, but warily submitted. He insisted on staying in Jason's lap and clung to him, more and more fearfully as the exam went on. "Sshh, it's okay, Pete, she's not gonna hurt you...we're trying to help, I won't let anyone hurt you..." Peter ended the urine sample gathering by suddenly nudging his member askew, and laughed hysterically when a streak of yellow sprayed across the doctor's clothes.

"Are you FIVE?" Jason screeched, mortified.

"We got what we needed," Leslie huffed. Irritation, disgust, and fond amusement were all warring on her face. "And you've always been a rascal, Jason, I don't know why you're so surprised."

Jackson, seeing that nothing bad had happened with his brothers, sighed and grudgingly cooperated with his own exam.

"You need to see a dentist, honey," Leslie murmured as she peered into his mouth.

When she was done, Jason fed everyone yet again, including Peter who had already gotten his reward soup.

Leslie refused, however, explaining that she was needed back at the clinic. Jason got the boys set up with the most harmless Disney movie in his library and then gently backed away. He'd already ordered some much-needed groceries and just needed to go pick them up from the store three blocks away. He wouldn't be gone long at all; hopefully the birds wouldn't even notice he'd left.

The universe had never been kind to Jason Todd. When he came hurrying back through the front door ten minutes later, it was to find the TV unplugged and the house completely empty. The boys' trail ended in an alley where their abandoned clothes, and the trackers hidden inside, had been dumped in a heap.

The Bats set facial recognition software running and kept a close eye on Penguin and the public library. They almost caught Jackson once, when he came in to use a computer. He managed to elude them and escape, and then seemingly vanished into the bowels of Gotham for weeks.

o.o.o.o.o

He'd lost them. He'd _lost_ them. After so many years and so much suffering, missing them so much because they and [ _trill_ ] were the only people who had ever loved him...Tim had FINALLY found his flockmates again, his true family.

And then he'd fucking LOST THEM.

He'd tried. He'd tried _so hard_ , he'd done the best he could: escaped the Bats, found an attic to keep his flockmates in, clothes and blankets, a metal bucket for a little fire on cold nights, as much food as he could beg, earn, or steal. He'd faithfully fed and cleaned [ _chirp-chirp_ ], who'd once shielded him from so much pain and was now broken and heart-dead. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] might never come back to life again, but Tim owed him, and tended to him without complaint.

He'd had more trouble with [ _caw_ ], who did not want to stay in the boring attic even though it _wasn't safe_ outside. Tim had brought him picture books and puzzles, treats and magazines, anything to keep him occupied, but it hadn't been enough. [ _caw_ ] and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] had flown away, and Tim was alone again, and he cried there for a long time in the empty nest because he was so tired, and no matter _how hard he tried_ , he would never, ever be good enough for anyone to stay with him and love him.

Stupid failures like him deserved to be alone.

TBC

A/N: *bursts out of the storm with fisted hands and determined face* SO. Writing has been on the backburner for a while, but it looks like things are finally starting to settle down. The so-called "specialist" was useless (they wanted to charge me $450 for a completely overkill solution), but by the grace of God, I did end up figuring out how to recover the data myself (there is absolutely nothing wrong with my flash drive, it's brand new, and the actual fix was super-easy; I just needed to recover my data before fixing the drive). I now have a lot of files to sort through, but I can be working on that in the background, it's not hindering me from doing much anymore. Also, it finally occurred to me to look up something regarding a minor but annoying problem with my computer, and I found a Troubleshooter that fixed it instantly, so I can _finally_ settle into my new computer. :) I'll hopefully get MS Word installed by this weekend at the latest, hopefully earlier. Once that's done, it'll be much easier to check word counts, and I'll finally be able to spellcheck my stories again! 8D


	96. Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 5

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 5 (rough draft)**

They were calling her, interested but unsure. Something was good but not right, and they knew she would want to investigate.

Ivy walked deep into Robinson Park, into the woods that had never receded after the earthquake, the woods that Wayne Enterprises had gotten legal protection for. (Ivy was grateful, but would have been suspucious before she'd known what mask Bruce Wayne wore at night. She and Batman might not always get along, but they weren't diametrically opposed, either.)

At first there were little homeless encampments occupied by the smart ones who knew they'd get kicked out of they littered, polluted, or harmed the plants. Farther in, though, there was nothing but the Green.

Until she reached the place that had called her. A small teenager lay nestled in the vines as if he was as at home among them as Ivy would be. Huge, lush, colorful flowers had bloomed all around him, a mark of their favor and approval. Vines and branches hung over his head, heavy with fruit.

The young man glanced at Ivy without turning his head, then away again in complete disinterest.

He was attuned to plant time, so Ivy said nothing. She knelt in the grass beside him, and they both simply existed.

He tirelessly watched the dance of leaf-filtered sunlight and shadows playing on the forest floor. His fingers absently curled in the silky grass, occasionally rising to ghost across bright petals. Sometimes fruit would dip low enough to brush his lips, and he would slowly sink his teeth into the sweet meat; sometimes it would be a flower offering its nectar. Ivy had never nursed a child at her breast, but she knew that this was what it would feel like.

At long last, the young man seemed to become aware of her presence as more than just a passing triviality. He turned his head slightly so that she was in his field of vision, and waited as if for the answer to a question he had not asked. It was so similar to how plants queried. She had never seen a human so suited to the Green, a puzzle made all the stranger because she could detect nothing out of the ordinary about him that would explain such an intuitive understanding.

 _"Come,"_ she said through the Green. _"Safe."_

He studied her warily for a moment. Then his body sank and his eyes half-closed in submission.

He had difficulty walking on his own, so the plants had to help her. They got him into her solar-powered car, and she drove back to the lab with her new specimen.

o.o.o.o.o

The petite blonde skidded to a stop, staring at the high fence that blocked the end of the alley. She whirled back, but by that time, the gang of men who'd chased her were blocking the only way out.

Her face set and she reached to pull out a can labeled 'mace' (though what it actually contained was a mild strain of Joker toxin), watching carefully for the right moment to give the signal.

"Nowhere to go, sweets," the man in the lead smirked. "Now, let's get back to our _conversation_."

"Yep, let's," she started to say, but before she could finish, something came leaping out from behind a dumpster. She thought at first that it was one of her babies jumping the gun, even the snarls and hysteric laughter were similar, but the creature's body wasn't hairy enough. When Harley realized that this random Joker-dog-kid was in the process if demolishing her lead in a misguided effort to help her, she hastily grabbed the nearest guy and took out his leg, then pressed a knife to his ear. "Start talkin'," she ordered. "The Beate Box, _why wasn't it in the cabin_?"

The interrogation was shorter and less bloody than she'd anticipated. By the time she'd contemptuosly dropped the half-conscious body of the guy who'd given her the next piece of this stupid clue-to-another-clue hunt, Bud and Lou, maybe confused at never hearing the expected signal, had come out of hiding. They were currently having a grand old time getting acquainted with Harley's young 'rescuer,' who looked delighted to see them. The hyenas, who had grown accustomed to laughing for human reasons in addition to natural hyena ones, were curiously giggling at Joker Dog Boy, who was giggling back, both parties imitating each other.

Harley clapped her hands smartly. "Babies!" The animals bounded over to her and devoured the treats she gave them. "Ended up not needin' ya after all, but good job, anyway! Who's my good boys?! Who's my good boys, yeah, you are, yooouuu are!"

The cuddlefest was interrupted by the boy bouncing in among them and prancing just like the hyenas had, looking at Harley expectantly.

She stared. "You wanna treat, too?"

He moved his hands in what she recognized as ASL. _"Food. Hungry."_

"Ah, geez." Melting a bit, Harley caressed the boy's - young man's, really; he looked to be about fifteen at least, though he didn't act like it - hair like she would a dog, and like a dog, he leaned into the touch. She shouldn't feel responsible for every victim of her sadistic ex, but the too-pale skin and too-wide smile made her feel guilty, anyway. "All right, well, I was headin' ta Red's anyway ta swap notes, she's gonna have fruit an' veggies lyin' around, at least. C'mon, Fido."

She left the alley with her entourage trailing behind her.

o.o.o.o.o

Selina's heart was pounding as she rushed over the rooftops to get home (well, one of her homes, anyway. It was her favorite safehouse during the times when she didn't want to be mistress of Stately Wayne Manor and mother of her ten thousand stepchildren for a while. She'd been hanging out there for almost three weeks now, Bruce was starting to get cranky about it).

The phone in her pocket went off with an alert that someone had broken in, and she paused, cursing. Probably the Falcone goons, they'd made it there ahead of her ( _how_ , though?! She knew they'd be closing in, but not _that_ fast!). The kittens, though, and her treasures... And the data stick, of course, that was the important thing. Objectively. Even if she cared about her cats and shinies more.

She could at least scope the place out, maybe call on the closest Bat for assistance (hopefully Tim, or Jason, the ones least likely to snitch to their dad). She just needed...

Perched on the rooftop opposite her apartment, Selina stared at the screen. Her security system showed only one human in her home, rather than the group of thugs she'd expected.

Frowning, she crept closer and peered in. A boy in dirty, ill-fitting clothes was raiding her refrigerator with one of her purses looped over his shoulder (not one with anything important in it), and she could not _believe_ that some random underage burglar had chosen _this_ , of all times, to break in.

Impatient now, Selina slipped through the window and moved quickly throughout the apartment, scooping the litter of rescued kittens and their startled mother into a bag and starting to key in the code that would reveal a palm-print pad.

The young thief jumped in surprise at her entrance and whipped out a knife, then stared as the owner of the home he'd broken into simply ignored him.

"Kid," Selina said brusquely, sweeping her best jewels into a side-pocket of the cat bag, "some very bad men are about to show up, so I'd recommend you scram _now_." She turned to Isis, who was standing on the couch, watching her intently. Selina made the hissing sound that was a signal to flee, and her oldest and dearest feline friend vanished out the window. She'd find Selina later, or, barring that, return to her warm bed at the manor.

"What?" The word was barely out of the kid's mouth before he started to dash out of the apartment, and Selina smiled as she slipped the data stick out of its hiding place and into her bra.

The kid came back into the apartment, this time gripped in the fist of a Falcone thug as a gun was pressed to his head. "Hiya, _boss_ ," the goon sneered at Selina, as his buddies quickly circled around to enclose the woman.

Selina very carefully set the bag of cats down, hoping they would be found and properly taken care of by the police whenever they came to investigate. She positioned her hip in a gratuitously sexy pose and raised her hands in a show of surrender as if she was bored and going through the motions. "Oh dear, you found me," she sneered.

"Yeah, and yer not gettin' away this time. Otherwise I shoot the kid, see?"

Said kid had a grimly resigned look on his face, like he was used to enduring unpleasant things until they were over. "Chose the wrong place to rob, huh?" Selina remarked, annoyed that she was hindered by having to protect a little punk who'd tried to steal from her.

The boy made a soft but contemptuous noise that sounded like a bird's crow.

Selina and the brat were pushed back to back, their hands tied together, and then forced into the back seat of a car with a goon on either side. It was a tight fit, and the boy ended up half in her lap, both of them in awkward poses because of their bound arms. The kid was small and skinny, so he wasn't too heavy, but his bones jutted into her as she worked quietly on freeing her hands. Her ankles had been bound, too, as a precautionary measure, and her mouth taped shut to complete the cliche, though the boy had been spared that, presumably because he was less of a threat.

The kid must have felt her purposefully straining fingers, because he eyed her as if trying to figure out if she was doing what he thought she was doing. She smiled - her mouth was hidden behind the gag, but he'd still see it in the rest of her face if he was observant. He looked away and gazed sullenly out the window, his arms relaxing in a way that made it slightly easier for her to work.

"Thought you'd be a tougher catch than this, Miz Calabrese," the chief goon in the passenger seat remarked.

Selina didn't bother to react to his use of her birth name, since he had almost certainly been attempting to get a rise out of her.

"Who's the kid, anyway? Another Wayne brat?"

And suddenly, at the sound of the name, it clicked. Selina looked sharply at her captivity buddy, forgetting for a minute to work on loosening her hands. He eyed her in mild alarm at her sudden stillness, and she took in the signs of former Jokerization and the facial bone structure that was identical to Tim's. _'Dear God, it's one of_ _them_ _!'_ The Bats had been looking for their lost birds for _weeks_ , and now one of them had almost literally dropped into her lap...?

Uncomfortable at her scrutiny, the boy, Little Tim - Jackson? They were using middle names, weren't they? - shifted uncomfortably, but there was no room. He went still again, apparently deciding that staying in her lap was preferable to cuddling into his captor, which was the only other option.

 _'Gonna get you out of this, kiddo,'_ Selina vowed, her determination renewed.

o.o.o.o.o

Less than an hour later, Selina was striding out of the front door with her unconscious sort-of stepson slung over her shoulder and the Falcone mansion in flames behind her. She put the boy down long enough to hotwire the loveliest car in the driveway, heaved Jackson into the back seat, then sped away.

She headed toward Bristol at first, but long before reaching the corresponding highway exit, she thought better of it. Bruce and the others were understandably desperate to find the little Joker-Robins, but it didn't go both ways. She'd listened to more than she'd wanted to hear of Dick's angsting, Jason's ranting, and Tim's hurt annoyance. Their younger selves hated and feared the Bats, Bruce most of all. From what Selina had gathered, they'd been held captive and tortured by a Jokerized Batman, so it would be cruel to drag them back to Batman's headquarters. Even Bruce had planned to see that they got better care under other people's direct supervision; he'd realized that handling the boys himself was not in their best interests.

So not the manor, then. But where else could she take a child who had suffered everything Jackson Drake had? _She_ certainly couldn't care for him long-term, she had other things to do, and her hands were already full with too many other emotionally scarred young people. Should she just dump him off at the Wayne Foundation, notify Bruce, and let him handle it from a distance?

The boy stirred in his sleep, making soft hissing noises like failed whistles, then whimpered pitifully. The next moment, Selina's cell was ringing. She tapped at it until Harley's voice came bouncing out of the speaker. _"HEY KITTY, guess what!"_

"I'm kind of busy here, Harl," Selina sighed.

 _"I gotta new puppy!"_

"Harley." Selina didn't know whether to be incredulous, annoyed, or just tired.

 _"Well, actually he's a kid, but he's_ _like_ _a puppy! Bud an' Lou love him, and he loves them. I think he loves Pammy's flower-bird more, though; kiddos've been joined at the hip since they first laid eyes on each other."_

"Harley, I have no idea what you're talking about. Are you at Ivy's?"

 _"Yeah!"_

"Please tell me you did not kidnap a child." _'Or put a dog collar on him.'_ Harley didn't do weird stuff like that to non-consenting innocent civilians anymore, but she was also...not predictable.

 _"Nowhere ta kidnap 'im_ _from_ _! Found 'im on the street. Cute li'l smelly knight in shinin' armor tried ta save me from a buncha mean ol' thugs!"_

"Harley, just- I'm on my way right now, okay? Got a stray of my own to add to whatever collection you've started."

 _"Ooohh, does this one twitter, too?"_

"What? Never mind; just, it's temporary, Harley. Don't even ask me if you can keep him, because you'll be dealing with Bruce otherwise."

 _"Ugh. I thought ya drew the line."_

"This one's not going near the manor, believe me. B has a vested interest, though, so be prepared to tangle with a Bat if you try anything."

 _"Now_ _why_ _would I ever do_ _that_ _, Kitty?"_

Selina smiled a little as she rolled her eyes and hung up.

TBC

A/N: **I don't know whether Isis, Bud, & Lou would still be alive or young enough to keep up with their humans' shenanigans, but I figured it wasn't worth looking up or making new animal OCs to replace them, since this whole story is an alternate scenario, anyway.**


	97. Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 6

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 6 (rough draft)**

First thing was to get a blood sample, of course. Ivy cleaned the crook of the boy's arm and thoroughly kissed the skin to numb it, none of which he reacted to in any way. The needle, however, incited a worse reaction than Ivy had expected. It was nothing overt, but attuned to organisms the way she was, she noticed at once the way he stiffened when the instrument came into view, and then the way his body seemed to no longer have conscious life in it when the needle was inserted.

"I'm not going to hurt you, love," she whispered, suddenly angry about what must have been done to this boy that he would go to such lengths to escape a routine, painless procedure. "It's just for a moment, then you'll be all done."

She removed the needle, applied a bandage to the tiny puncture wound, then, hesitantly, not knowing what else to do, kissed the boy's cheek, this time with a variant of the chemical that made people love her.

Ethical or not, it worked. After a moment, he blinked and came back to himself, his lips curving in a surprisingly sweet smile. Although he said nothing and made no move toward her, he gazed at her lovingly as she took his blood sample over to her equipment and started analyzing it.

The euphoria had been purposefully mild, and once it had worn off after about an hour, he curled up and fell asleep. Ivy paused her work to find a blanket to lay over him.

Late in the afternoon, when the boy had awakened again and was drifting curiously around Ivy's lab/home, particularly drawn to the most colorful flowers, the door crashed open. "Pammyyyyy!"

"Harley?"

" _CROW_!" The creature slouching with the hyenas suddenly bounded across the room, flinging itself at Ivy's boy while making loud bird noises. Ivy started to move to rescue her new pet, but stopped when she realized that it wasn't an attack. Both teenagers had their arms tight around each other, Ivy's with tears streaming down his face as he twittered melodiously in tandem with the other boy.

"They know each other," Ivy realized.

"Aw, cute!" Harley cooed. "Fido found a friend! I didn't know ya had one, too, Red."

Her boy, still with an arm around Ivy's, turned and made excited noises that, except for the chirping, sounded like they were meant to be human speech, but were too garbled to understand.

"Sorry, sweetheart, can't understand ya," Harley said, moving her hands in what must have been sign language.

'Fido' enthusiastically patted his companion and then, still making chirping sounds with his face alight, made sweeping motions toward his chest as if to say, _"MINE, he's mine, I'm so happy!"_

The other boy had settled into a series of cawing sounds, nuzzling into his friend with arms still tight around him and fingers gripping tightly. _"[caw], [caw], [caw]..."_

"Okay, well, ya got any food for Caw and Chirpy 'round here, Red?"

The boys were soon settled at the table. Chirp showed no interest in the food, instead cramming himself into his companion's chair and perching rigidly with arms locked tight around him and face buried in his shoulder. Caw looked extremely happy, wolfing down all the produce set in front of him (Ivy realized quickly that she had to remove the less edible parts, otherwise he'd eat the seeds, peels, and cores, too), occasionally tapping his palm aginst the other boy's arm as if reassuring himself that his friend was still nearby.

"So ya know 'food' and 'hungry,' but not much else?" Harley tried to figure out. "Here, kiddo; ya wanna _apple_ -" she made the sign and indicated the fruit a few times, "-or an' _orange_?"

Caw eagerly made both signs, and Harley laughed.

That evening, the boys slept curled up with Bud and Lou as Ivy tended to her gardens and Harley sat with a laptop and piles of papers and books at the table, complaining about how much her research felt like homework, "Which isn' _fair_ 'cause I ain't in _school_!"

Clattering footsteps sounded in the hall, then the door was thrust open. "Gangsters suck," Selina announced.

"Kitty~!"

"You found another one?" Ivy remarked, observing the sullen boy at Catwoman's side who had the same post-Jokerization features and slightly pointed ears as the two young men currently sleeping with the hyenas.

"Wait, _that's_ what you were talking about?" Selina exclaimed, staring at the huddle of bodies. "We found ALL of the-?! Oh my God, Harley; a dog bed? Seriously?"

"They didn't want the real bed!"

There was a gasp. The thirteen-year-old at Selina's side had stiffened in shock. " _crow_?" he ventured, eyes glistening.

Two heads popped up from the tangle of bodies in the corner. Then the three teens rushed at each other, meeting in the middle of the room, the youngest boy sobbing as the older two crooned soothingly at him. The twittering went on and on and on, Chirp looking more awake and active than Ivy had yet seen him.

"Um," Selina said.

Ivy narrowed her eyes. "What is it?"

"So. These are actually. Bat boys."

"No!" Harley gasped, as if her friend had just said something highly offensive.

"I _told_ you on the phone, Harl," Selina said in exasperation. She glanced at Ivy again. "So what we've actually got here are baby Nightwing, Red Hood, and Red Robin from a nightmare alternate universe."

Ivy stared at the boys, feeling mildly betrayed, though a second later her heart was softening as she watched them. The youngest Robin had been borne away to the dog bed where he was huddled, sniffling, with his oldest brother grooming his hair and the other brother romping over with all the food he could carry, allowing the hyenas to steal bits of it as he offered the rest to the newcomer. There was an ease and deep affection between them that Ivy rarely saw in the real Bats. Selina said they were less guarded at home, though even then, there were plenty of squabbles and emotional dysfunction.

"How come they haven't showed up in tights yet?" Harley asked, going over to inspect the mask-shaped scars on the older boys' faces more closely.

"B didn't know about them until recently. Apparently John and Peter - the older ones - have been rotting in Kiddie Arkham for years, and Jackson was in foster 'care' for a while before running to the streets. They've _been here_ , and no one knew. B tried to take charge as soon as he did, but they're slippery little things."

"Guess ya really are Bats," Harley remarked, playfully twirling Peter's hair.

Jackson batted her hand away and hissed, "Don' touch 'em."

"Ooohh, this one talks!"

"Fuck off, bitch!"

"An' _dirty_ , too. Watch out, brat, talk that way 'bout a lady again an' I'm breakin' out some soap fer that mouth."

Chirp laid a hand on his youngest brother's head and lifted his other arm in a mild warding gesture toward Harley. He rose to his feet and pushed his crossed arms against her, politely but firmly, until she started backing away. He smiled a sweetly apologetic smile at her before returning to the dog nest and crooning at his agitated brother.

"Yep, that's Nightwing all right."

"So, what, we're supposed to just hand them over to the Bat?" Ivy said.

Jackson heard her. He jumped to his feet and shouted, "You give us t' Bat I KILL YOU!"

"Rawr!" Peter yelled in support, jumping up beside him. Chirp stood up again, too, milder but obviously on his brothers' side.

"No," Selina answered her friend, gesturing toward the boys, "because of _that_. They hate the Bats, but there's nowhere else to take them, so I don't know what to do."

"We can adopt them!"

" _No_ , Harley!"

"Not, like, with paperwork an' stuff; just keep 'em here and feed 'em and love 'em."

"That's even worse! They're human beings, not stray dogs."

"They _are_ strays, no one wants 'em 'cept the creep who scares 'em to death. Ya think the three of us are _worse_ 'n Arkham or the streets?"

Jackson, tensely watching the women, signed, _"Batman kill children, I want die."_

"What did he say?" Ivy asked.

Selina knew a bit of ASL but wasn't fluent, particularly when the signer himself hadn't learned the language properly. "I'm pretty sure I misunderstood."

"We're not givin' ya to Batman, hon," Harley said decisively. "He's too scary for sweet little birdies like you. You can live here with your new aunties!"

 _"Good food here,"_ [ _caw_ ] twittered. _"Nice mamas."_

 _"...I'm tired,"_ [ _warble_ ] whimpered. He flopped down and lay against Lou's side, arms away from his body and throat stretched out.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] knelt and leaned over his flockmate's body to shield his neck and chest. _"I will guard you,"_ the pose said.

 _"I sleep you guard, you sleep I guard,"_ [ _caw_ ] said. The tone added an implied, _"Just like we always do."_ He smiled. _"Now that we are together."_

Selina threw up her hands. "You know what, I'm too tired to care. I'm going to bed."

"Why, yes, Selina, I'd be _happy_ to let you spend the night in my home," Ivy said pointedly.

Selina shot her a mischievous grin as she headed toward the bathroom. "Thanks."

"Whoo, slumber party!" Harley cheered.

Ivy rolled her eyes and got back to work.

o.o.o.o.o

 _You can call off the search. Don't stalk me or you'll scare them off again._

Tim stared at the text, his body very still as his mind raced. _'She found them. Why did she only tell me and Jason? Because Bruce will freak out, and Dick won't think to keep it secret. Where are they? Can't be her usual place, it got trashed last night. Gotta start checking security feeds for the other-'_

Jason burst into his room, still in the boxer shorts he'd probably slept in. "What's the plan?" he demanded.

"You and Cass go, once I figure out the location," Tim said, not even realizing before he spoke that his subconscious mind had apparently already started work on a plan. "You've got a rapport with them, and Cass can help monitor the situation. Wait 'til Little Me's asleep or something, though; he keeps tabs on both versions of us, he'll be suspicious if he sees you and try to bolt again. Keep it mostly recon, we won't know the best course of action 'til we know what frame of mind they're in and what sort of setup Selina's got."

"Cool. I'm gonna go put some clothes on."

"Please."

TBC

A/N: Next chapter will have a time skip, it does not pick up straight after this one.


	98. Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 7

_**The Birds Who Smile**_ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 7 (rough draft)**

What had started out as a temporary arrangement stretched out to weeks, then months. Selina added Ivy's lab to her circuit of homes, and visited at least once a week even if she didn't spend the night. Harley went from treating the lab as a home base to more of an actual home. Ivy started to realize that children, even half-grown ones, needed more attention and supervision than plants did, and found that the time spent away from her work - feeding, refereeing, talking, and the like - wasn't as unpleasant as expected.

They got a lot of visitors, all of them dressing and talking like they were just family friends and not being paid with Wayne money behind the scenes. Phillip had long conversations with each boy, some of them ending in tears or anger, others in breakthroughs and relief, all supplementing Harley's own informal therapy sessions. Jane, so bubbly and energetic, always brought lots of games and books. John started to hide whenever she arrived because her activities tended to make his brain hurt, but Peter and Jackson came to eagerly look forward to her visits. Tina with the enthusiastic hands almost never spoke with her mouth at all, and all three boys soaked up her signing lessons like sponges. And then there were the regular visits to Dr. Thompkins, the exams and the prescribed medication that the birds only trusted when they were administered with Ivy's hand.

Their faces weren't so pale anymore, their ears not _quite_ so pointed. Jackson cried the day he looked in a mirror and realized he wasn't Smiling even a tiny bit. Months later, Peter noticed his own reflection and shrieked with joy, mouth spread in a way that was now entirely natural and not stiff at all. John showed no reaction even when he finally noticed that he looked a little less like the Laughing Bat's bird than he did before.

There were other visitors, too, ones who were certainly not being paid with Wayne money. The first time Penguin showed up, Jackson clung tight to his brothers and waited to be ripped away from them.

Ivy stood in front of her little ones and gave Penguin a look like thunder, plants breaking through the floor and threatening to pull down the ceiling. Penguin backed away and never returned.

There were men and women who would admire Selina's pretty things with her, then take them away after leaving even prettier things in exchange.

There was a strange-smelling man in a green robe who came to talk to Ivy for a while. He didn't look at the boys until the end, when he saw Jackson and paused as he was walking toward the door. He held Jackson's chin to inspect his face; Jackson bit him. The man raised his hand to strike, and this time Peter bit him before he could. Then Selina was there, sliding her body between Ra's al Ghul and her boys, talking so sweetly, and then he left. They all, even the gardens, moved to another home that night.

There were groups of motley people, sometimes with animals. They would flock in and eat a lot and talk even more, sometimes until Ivy got angry and kicked them out. Harley would usually go with them. She'd come back in a few days, maybe a week, and kiss her boys and tell them they'd been good.

Once, she took Peter with her. John cried and went catatonic and threw tantrums the entire night he was gone; Jackson covered his ears with headphones and curled up in a corner with his laptop. Their relief was palpable when their flockmate finally came galloping back, but he was so excited telling them about his adventures ( _"Laugh Mama gave me a loud thing_ gg'unn _, FUN I like it~!"_ ) that they got annoyed with him for enjoying his time away from them.

 _"I love [chirp-chirp] and [warble] more than_ gg'unn _,"_ [ _caw_ ] crooned ingratiatingly.

 _"Mad at you,"_ [ _warble_ ] pouted in response.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] said nothing, but lay right on top of his flockmate that night in a _"You belong to me stay HERE"_ announcement. [ _caw_ ] accepted it quietly, but that didn't stop him from romping off with Harley on her next adventure.

Jackson, meanwhile, had found his life's work. He spent long hours in his corner, eyes intent on the screen of his computer and fingers often flying across the keys. The more he learned, the more he found there _was_ to learn. Selina was a little surprised when her youngest sort-of son started coming to _her_ with sources or information related to particular pieces she was trying to track down, or people who could facilitate the restoration of stolen national treasures. Harley's expeditions started running more smoothly the more she relied on Jackson's intel, particularly when the boy got fed up with her risky improvising and started providing her with detailed plans and contingencies.

"Batman," Oracle noted at one point. There was a grunt of acknowledgment. "You remember that amateur hacker from a few years ago, dragonbird? He's back."

 _"And?"_ Batman prompted impatiently. dragonbird had been creative but unskilled, easily shut down by Oracle and then vanishing entirely.

"And he doesn't suck anymore. It took me ten minutes just to figure out what he'd _done_ to that Trojan so I could neutralize it."

 _"...Have you traced him?"_

"According this, dragonbird is working from Brucie Wayne's work computer."

 _"_ _What_ _."_

"Obviously he's using that as a cover, but we're the only people who would have had the access to do that. Side-note, guess who tagged along with Ivy - Pamela, sorry - when she came in last week to give her presentation?"

Of _course_ Bruce had known whenever any of his children, including the self-exiled birds, set foot on his property. He just hadn't realized that Jackson had somehow gotten access to his work computer.

...Tim had had it with him at the presentation. Checking the security video on the Batcomputer that night confirmed that Tim had been showing his unusually friendly younger self something on that computer after the meeting, and had turned away for a minute to respond to something a coworker had asked him. Jackson hadn't even looked away from the screen, just moved his hand from his pocket to the computer and then, ten seconds later, back again, just before Tim returned his attention to the bird. _'Son of a...'_

After that, Bruce, Barbara, and Tim kept a close eye on dragonbird, intervening only when necessary. Jackson had learned a lot during his hiatus. The Bats could still shut him down easily, but the boy's potential as a programmer and hacker was breathtaking.

Bruce, hesitant but curious and proud, eventually gave in to the temptation to pay his youngest bird's way through an advanced coding class that taught much more than the free online courses he'd been using before. "Bruce, _seriously_?" Barbara said in exasperation a few months later when dragonbird's work became more disruptive.

"...It was, admittedly, impressive," Bruce mumbled.

Tim, working on a different computer to undo the damage, rolled his eyes. "I can't decide whether to keep being mad at you or take that as a compliment."

o.o.o.o.o

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] was angry. Nobody loved him or wanted him. Cat Mama was gone, [ _warble_ ] said whenever she wasn't home it meant she was in Bat's bed. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] didn't know why [ _warble_ ] was always so angry about that, because it was brave and good and sad for Cat Mama to go be Bat's toy so little birds didn't have to.

Cat Mama was good for leaving, but everyone else was _not_. Laugh Mama and the Laughing Dogs had gone because she was bored and didn't like to stay stay stay in the home-nest, and [ _caw_ ] was the same, he kept going with her. He was with her now. Plant Mama was playing with her Greens that she loved more than birds, the MUST kind of playing where she stayed up all night and didn't eat and didn't sleep because she wanted to Finish. [ _warble_ ] was the same, except it was with his 'laptop' instead of Greens. Both of them said _"Leave me alone"_ when he went to them, and pushed him away when he didn't.

So [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was all all all ALONE except for the cats, and cats were soft and warm and good but they didn't always want to love or play with [ _chirp-chirp_ ], and it was quiet and boring and no one loved him and he was _angry_.

So he went to go be Alone for real instead of alone in his home, because being alone with flockmates nearby hurt worse. He went in the dark and the noise and the bad smells, but it was pretty, too, bright lights lights lights and colors in the darkness. Sometimes music.

"Hello, handsome."

Pretty ladies. They smelled bad with the smoke but they were covered all over with sparkles and colors and very good things like that. The one with puffy soft feathers all around her neck and hanging down her body like tails let him play with them soft good pretty for a while.

Then they all went stiff and afraid. "~~, kid," one of them hissed. He heard a car slowing instead of whooshing past, but then they were all pushing him away, and when he wouldn't go, one of them _yanked_ hard and hurt his wing, pushing him deep into the dark. "STAY," she ordered. Then she pranced back out into the color light again.

He watched, and now he knew why they chased little birds away, because bats had come. Not _Him_ -Bat or Them-Bats, but still bats, looking out of the car and crooning sounds that said _"Come with us (entice/hard/dark)."_

The ladies twittered back, _"(Fake)happy coy (fake)love-you (scared),"_ then two of them climbed into the car and it drove away. The ones who were left drifted down the street again, relieved and angry and disappointed all at the same time.

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] didn't understand, it all scared him a little, so he went away.

People on the street tried to hunt him, so he climbed up on the roofs, where it was quieter and safer. He watched the lights for a long time, then he realized he was cold. He went to another roof, and another, and he found a blanket, but when he tried to pick it up, it moved and was warm and grumbled at him. There was a person under it already.

So [ _chirp-chirp_ ] went to the next roof, and then he heard a dog crying. He looked down. Down down in the dark, a man was hitting a dog. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] pushed the thing next to him, it was heavy and full of dirt like Plant Mama's gardens, but there was no plant. The heavy thing finally fell. It hit the ground and burst, and the man yelled at [ _chirp-chirp_ ].

BANG!

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] covered his ears, they hurt because it was so _LOUD_. A gun, like [ _caw_ ]'s new toy that he liked?

BANG!

Then a black-and-blue thing _swooped_ , a Bat. [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was supposed to run away from Bats, but this was not _Him_ -Bat. It was so beautiful that [ _chirp-chirp_ ] wanted to keep looking, so he did. Blue wings in the dark, a body that fought like dancing. Then quiet, and quiet, and quiet. Two eyes, spots of white in the black.

After a long time, "Johnny."

 _"It is good to run away from Bats,"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] said, but still he didn't run.

 _whooosh_

Not-wings in the dark, black-and-blue not-shadow flying up to the roof, not close. Then watching again, the bird and the Bat. Nigh'wing. The one [ _warble_ ] said loved Batman and gave himself to Bat on purpose, but even if he did that far away in that bad dark house and cave, he wasn't doing it now. He was looking like [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was very interesting and important to be kept safe.

"...What ~~ you doing ~~ here ~~ alone, Johnny?"

 _"Blue Bat is alone? Master follow?"_

Quiet, and quiet.

Blue Bat got bored, he flipped his body the other way, walked on his hands.

...[ _chirp-chirp_ ] used to do that. A long, long, long time ago.

...Not [ _chirp-chirp_ ]. Little dead boy Dickie Robin, he did that, when he wasn't [ _chirp-chirp_ ] yet.

Dick was dead but he was still inside [ _chirp-chirp_ ], he could walk on his hands so maybe [ _chirp-chirp_ ] still could, too. He went down, hands and head down, feet up.

Too much; his feet went too far, he fell. But he felt now where he was supposed to balance, and he tried again, and then he felt Blue Bat's hands - light, light, just a nudge at his legs to say, _"Right here, that's good, no farther."_

He fell again when he tried to walk. This time when he dropped down to his hands, Blue Bat's hands on his legs said, _"Not so far this time, I'll help; walk half first, then straight still,_ _then_ _walk full."_

There. There it was, [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was walking on his hands and it felt so good he _laughed_ , and fell again. Blue Bat was laughing, too.

Arms came around him and suddenly [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was scared, not of Blue Bat but because he was alone with no flockmates to tell him if there was danger or not. He pushed the arms away and ran.

o.o.o.o.o

Nightwing tailed his younger self, keeping out of sight, watching John explore the city and quietly intervening whenever anyone started to move threateningly toward the boy.

John was attracted to lights and certain kinds of music. He sat for half an hour at the feet of a man with multi-braided hair playing guitar for tips. (Nightwing dropped a bill into the man's hat once John finally moved on.) He spent twenty minutes admiring a blinking neon sign in a store window. He danced to cheer up a little girl who was crying outside a grocery store (Nightwing called the police when he discovered that the child's mother had deliberately abandoned her).

At last, Catwoman's frantic voice broke through the comms, and Nightwing reassured everyone that their missing little bird was safe. He watched until John had made it safely home, then returned to a normal patrol, wishing he knew why his younger self had freaked out about the hug. _'I won't let anyone hurt you, Johnny.'_

TBC


	99. Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 8

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Alternate route: Never Adopted - Part 8 (rough draft)**

The 'library' was a VERY good place with BOOKS AND BOOKS AND BOOKS and [ _caw_ ] liked it so so much that now Jane and the mamas took him a lot instead of only when he begged.

It was hard to read the books he used to like, he cried when he found _Anne of Green Gables_ and the words swam on the page when he opened it instead of letting him read them. But the book ladies and Jane and the mamas gave him books with voices instead, so he could at least listen to Anne and Narnia and Arrietty and the others even though he couldn't read them.

The baby books with the pictures didn't swim so much, especially since Jane started helping him. " '*censored because FFN is stupid*,' " he read, hard because making mouth-words was _so hard_ now, FUCK Batman, and fuck Arkham! "...*censored because FFN is stupid*...' " There was an R. Yes? Yes, an R. Not t-h-o, t-h- _r_. " '...*censored because FFN is stupid*..."

His mouth hurt, and his head hurt. He pushed the book away and put his head down and covered it with his arms to hide in the dark and rest for a while. Jane went away to get water for him.

" ' '*censored because FFN is stupid*' ' "

That was a good voice. [ _caw_ ] looked up, and there was a big someone there who wasn't before, curled up in the 'bean bag' nest in the corner with Peppa Pig and Cat in the Hat. " ' '*censored because FFN is stupid*' ' "

Words words words, too many [ _caw_ ] didn't know, but he liked that voice very much, and now he knew it was Big Jason. [ _warble_ ] said that Big Jason was a Bat and bad, but [ _caw_ ] thought he was wrong because he knew Jason was good. [ _caw_ ] went to go nest with him, and Jason gave him Cat in the Hat to hold. [ _caw_ ] hugged Cat in the Hat and put his head on Jason's warm chest and good heartbeat and listened to that good voice. Jason held Peppa Pig and the book and then held [ _caw_ ], too, and he made many words with his good voice.

" ' '*censored because FFN is stupid*...' ' "

Jason continued to read _Pride and Prejudice_ aloud long after his younger self had fallen asleep. His heart ached a little and he would have liked to take Peter home to the manor when the library closed, but when Selina and Harley walked in with the other birds and Peter woke up, the teen ran to them, calling them 'Mama,' without a backward glance at Jason. Then Jackson hissed at him, the little brat, warning him off, and John was putting up a clingy fuss, and Jason had to stand there and watch Peter walk away without him.

He _had_ gained some ground, though. Jane started texting him whenever she planned to take her young charge to the library, and though Peter always ran to the Sirens and his brothers at the end, he clearly enjoyed cuddling with Jason and listening to him read and being helped with his own reading for whatever time Jason managed to steal before that.

o.o.o.o.o

Peter was recovering nicely and Jack, though still sullen, suspicious, and full of triggers, was slowly getting better as well.

John had good days and bad days. Sometimes he'd flit around the lab, play with his brothers, get nosy about his adoptive mothers' business, practice gymnastics (Harley had started taking him to classes, both for exercise and socialization), and nag the family about going out to have fun or people-watch.

Other times, he'd sleep or just lie in bed, conscious but motionless, for hours and hours. The record had been two-and-a-half days and two nights, broken only because Harley had forcibly dragged him out of bed and driven him around town on her motorcycle for a while. (He liked the motorcycle. And, as Catwoman discovered after a suggestion from Nightwing, he liked being held by someone who was swinging from rooftop to rooftop.)

This was one of the low times. He'd lain down after breakfast and had never gotten up, and now it was long past nightfall and he still lay there, covered with cats. Dusty, lying almost face to face with him, was purring as he slowly scrubbed the very tips of his fingers through her soft gray fur.

"Chirp," Ivy said, setting a timer right in front of his eyes, "five minutes."

He slowly lifted his free hand and isolated the middle finger.

She smiled, relieved to see at least a spark of life. "Timer goes off, you're getting up."

Once the five minutes had passed, she returned and sighed when the bed appeared to be empty. She picked up the comforter and shook it to dislodge the cats, then tossed it aside entirely. John, who'd been spread out to minimize his shape under the bulky bedding, now curled up and covered his head. _"Tired,"_ he whimpered in bird language. Ivy had learned some of it, finding it easier to pick up than ASL.

"You've been in bed for over nine hours. You are not tired. Get up."

He started crying as she dragged him to his feet, not with tears but the way animals did, whimpering and keening his misery. Ivy pressed little kisses to his face with very mild doses of her love-me toxin. Selina always took objection when she resorted to that, but she couldn't stand to hear her son's pain and it was the easiest way for her to calm him down. He soon quieted and rested his head against her chest. "Mmama."

"Good boy, Chirp," she murmured, and kissed him again, this time cleanly and out of pure affection. "My little rosebud."

 _"Tired."_

"Let's go get some ice cream."

 _"...Sweet-cold,"_ he twittered softly, tempted.

"With chocolate chips and all the sprinkles you want," she coaxed.

"Sss'ppi'kkuh."

"That's right, my love."

All the nearby ice cream shops were closed by now, so they had to make do with cheap treats out of the freezer bin at a convenience store. Since none of the frozen treats contained both chocolate chips and sprinkles, Ivy bought two, one some sort of cookie blend and the other coated end-to-end with sprinkles. John held that one in both hands and admired it for a while before he let Ivy open it for him.

They sat on the roof of the store, John munching on his treats and Ivy gazing at the stars.

 _"Mama,"_ John finally twittered.

"What is it, Rosebud?"

 _"I am broken."_

"No, darling, you're not."

 _"Bat tear out my heart, I am tired and empty."_

Vines grew from her living dress, creeping to John, crawling up his body and blossoming into brightly colored flowers around his neck. He cooed at them in pleasure.

"See? You're not empty. Someone who's lost his soul cannot appreciate the beauty of flowers, but you can."

 _"Mama."_

"Yes?"

 _"I want real Mama and Papa."_

They had had this conversation before. "They are dead, sweetheart. They are never coming back. They loved you, but they are gone, so you have new people to love you now."

 _"Bat killed them. I hate him."_

"The Bat who killed them is dead. The Bat here is a different one, and he does not kill people."

 _"...Different Bat, yes/no/maybe. Bad Bat. [warble] hates him."_

"Warble thinks this new Bat is still the old bad Bat, but Warble is wrong."

 _"Yes/no/maybe. ...Blue Bat. I like him."_

"Yes, you would. He likes you, too."

 _"Bats fly and...hurt bad people."_

Ivy eyed him. According to Selina, Dick Grayson had started out as an extremely underage vigilante because he'd adamantly refused all other options. If the desire to physically battle injustice was innate, then the Sirens might have a problem on their hands.

"Maybe. But boys like you play and go to school and don't worry about bad people."

"Ss'chooo..." John liked school on his good days, but looked slightly conflicted now.

"Do you think you'll be able to go to school tomorrow, love?"

He ducked his head and took another bite of ice cream. She briefly set a hand on his knee, and he scooted over to snuggle into her side. There was nothing more to say, so they were quiet.

o.o.o.o.o

Jackson looked up from his computer, suddenly realizing that something was wrong. He frowned, set the device aside, and went to the bathroom, where Selina was sitting on the closed toilet lid with her face in one hand and something small and plastic in the other.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm too old for this," she mumbled. "I'm on the Pill. How did this _happen_?"

He looked at the thing in her hand. There were two lines on the tiny display. He looked at the packaging on the floor, then back at his mother. "Baby?"

"Don't say it."

He had no idea how to comfort her, and thought he probably shouldn't ask why she was sad. (Movies made pregnancy look like a wonderful, exciting thing. The women he'd seen in real life usually looked like their worst nightmare had come to pass. He had never figured out the reason for either reaction.) So he left and then came back with a bottle of wine, since he knew his cat mother sometimes liked to drink when she was feeling down.

Selina burst into laughing tears when she saw it.

"Fine," he huffed, offended at her laughter and rather dismayed that he'd apparently done something wrong. He put the wine down and left again, and this time came back with Isis. He put the cat into Selina's arms.

"Oh, baby," Selina whimpered, hiding her face in the cat's fur. Isis endured it magnanimously.

Jackson, feeling useless, went to bury himself in his coding again. He was very surprised and a little relieved when Selina came later and hugged him. "Thank you, Jackie."

"You're welcome, Lina," he responded automatically. "Feel better?"

"A little."

He forgot about the incident for months, until the mamas were dressing up for a night of clubbing and Selina came out of her room with a skimpy top that proudly showed off her baby bump.

"Lina!" Jackson screeched.

Everyone looked at him in surprise.

"Keeping the baby?!"

"Yes," Selina said defensively. "I'm fine with it now."

"She's gonna be as gorgeous as her mommy and daddy," Harley bragged, patting her friend's round stomach.

Jackson was horrified. If Selina had made such a decision, he would have expected her to also make escape plans, but as far as he knew, she hadn't. She was just going to _let_ her baby be born in that hell house and grow up - if it was even allowed to grow up - at the mercy of that sadistic freak. "Why you _wasting time_?! We got work!"

"What work?"

"Run away! Save baby! Save YOU!"

"Oh dear, it seems our girls' night out has been cut short," Ivy said in fake-dismay, already kicking off her fancy shoes and tossing her clutch purse aside. "I'm going back to work."

"No, Pam, wait- Jack!" Selina cried in exasperation. On the couch, the other boys and the hyenas were watching like it was a sports match. John literally had a bowl of popcorn that he happened to have prepared earlier.

"I call Hood, maybe he help; get the flight plans in a minute-"

" _Jack_." Since Harley had gone to try to wheedle Ivy away from the plants, Selina focused on her youngest son, setting her hands on his shoulders. "I am _not_ Bruce's prisoner, and he would _never_ hurt this baby. Jackson, I need you to listen to me."

"NO!" he screamed, tears in his eyes, and fled. His brothers immediately rushed after him, and the Sirens' night on the town turned out to consist of tracking down skittish, agitated bird boys before they could get mugged rather than the planned dancing and minor mischief.

TBC

A/N: This fic is getting hard to write - everything after the library scene felt like pulling teeth, and Selina getting pregnant wasn't even in my notes. X'''D I'm trying to be good and stick with this story, the KH Batfam AUs, and the genderswap, but my muse is now obsessed with Batfam Bingo ._. (Although I've only posted one story for it so far, I've been brainstorming and drafting like crazy for both prompts on my own bingo card and prompts I've found on other people's.)

Anyway, I can't make any promises about anything, I'm still struggling with time management and my muse is all over the place. orz


	100. Alternate route: Never Adopted - 053119

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Alternate route: Never Adopted - 31 May 2019 update (rough draft)**

Helena Magdalene Wayne was born at the manor with the assistance of a midwife; totally healthy, no complications. Selina sent photos to Ivy and Harley, who apparently made the mistake of showing those photos to the boys.

Hours later, after receiving a series of frantic text messages, Selina dragged herself out of bed. Bruce was being an overprotective, anxious wreck and wouldn't let go of his newborn daughter until the car stopped down the street from Ivy's lab. Then he changed in less than a minute and was one of the three Bats standing guard from the rooftops as Selina hobbled to the front door with Helena in her arms.

"Cat!" Harley greeted anxiously as she flung the door open, too upset to do more than pat the baby's head.

"God," Selina groaned. She didn't have to ask where Jackson was, because she could hear his hysterical sobbing and screaming, which soon set off the baby. The boy was on the birds' bed, wrapped in his brothers' arms, carrying on like he was dying of a fatal injury. John and Peter looked upset and frightened as they held him and attempted to soothe him.

 _"He kills her he kills her he kills her...!"_ Jackson wailed in bird language.

Peter brightened when he saw Selina slowly approaching. _"Mom, help!"_ he signed. _"[Jack] is angry scared!"_

"Jack," Selina said. She couldn't even hear herself over the screaming, but Jackson turned his head toward her. Whimpering desperately, he scrambled off the bed and lurched toward her, hands reaching for the baby. "Careful careful careful careful careful _careful careful_...!"

Jackson clung to his little newborn sister, eyes fixed on her, making whining sounds in his throat of sobs he was now too distracted to release. Helena continued to scream her displeasure even though the noise that set her off had stopped.

Selina continued to hang on as well, not trusting the distraught teenager to be able to hold the newborn securely. She tugged and shuffled until she'd managed to get the three of them to an easy chair, where she sat and pulled up her shirt. Getting Helena to latch on was tricky, but once the baby started nursing, it worked like magic to calm her down. Jackson crammed himself onto the arm of the chair, leaning right into Selina, legs and arms curved protectively around his little sister.

"Be _gentle_ ," Selina said firmly as he set a hand on the infant like a shield.

 _"Safe little one here safe, no Bats no HIM stay safe here we protect you..."_

John and Peter gathered around on Selina's other side, both of them captivated. " 'Ssa bba'bby!" Peter exclaimed in delight. "A bba'bby!"

"That's right. This is your sister, Helena."

"Hhewwa," Peter hummed, poking gently at the infant's head.

"Bbe'bbe," John cooed. _"Small."_

Ivy had moved up behind Selina and was sending gentle vines down to cradle the baby, unable to reach her otherwise. Harley leaned on John and cooed, petting Helena's scalp with a fingertip, since that was all that would fit between everyone else trying to caress the newborn.

"She's fine, Jack," Selina said wearily. "See? She's safe. No one wants to hurt this baby."

Jackson sniffled, still crying softly, and didn't answer. His gaze remained fixed on the child the whole time she was nursing and when she fell asleep afterward.

"Pam," Selina said, "I need something clean to lay her down on." The beds here tended to be covered with animal hairs, the boys and Harley weren't super-diligent about bathing, and none of the occupants of this home were good about changing the sheets regularly. Ivy put together a basket with clean blankets from the closet, and Selina carefully laid the baby into it.

Jackson wrapped himself around the basket. He would not leave his sister's side, even dragged her basket into the bathroom with him when he needed to pee. After over 24 hours of this, Selina was fed up. "Jackson, I want to go _home_. I want to be with my _husband_ and my _stuff_ , I want my _butler_ , I don't want to be _here_. You can come with us if you want, but Helena and I are leaving."

"No! No!"

"Just try and stop me!" she dared.

For a long moment, the boy held his ground. Then, slowly, his body sagged, and something in his face shut down. He held up his middle finger at Selina and then went to play video games.

It was nearly two years before Jackson even acknowledged the little girl's existence, another year before he warmed up to her again, and she was four years old when he finally smiled at her, the first sign of affection he'd ever expressed toward his sister since her infancy.

xXx

 **A/N: I royally screwed up the timeline. I can no longer continue writing the first draft of this story in chronological order, so I'm just going to write the rest of the scenes on my list in a totally random order (except the ending, which will be at the end), and hopefully fix it later.**

xXx

He was spinning. The sun was warm and the little human creatures were laughing and the mamas were eating and [ _caw_ ] and [ _warble_ ] were safe, so [ _chirp-chirp_ ] was spinning and spinning and spinning and Laughing, waiting to fall off the edge of the world.

 _poof_

[ _chirp-chirp_ ] stopped spinning, and fell. He stared, because someone had thrown a pretty thing on him, floaty and delicate and pink, with _wonderful_ shiny jingly things dangling all around the edges. He cooed and pushed at the pink, feeling it slide smooth and pretty past his talons. He jerked his wings up and down to make the shiny things chime and sing. Then he stood up and twirled, watching the sun shine down pink through the thing, watching the jingly things flash and cry their joy.

Someone else was twirling, too. A big person but not really big, thin and graceful, dancing just like Shiny-Red-Gold-Dancer-Whose-Name-He-Forgot at the circus. Wearing blue and white instead of red and gold, but just as graceful, telling a story with her body.

 _"Found a treasure, lost it, miss it, want it."_

 _"Hello. Curious,"_ he told her with his own body.

She smiled to see the lovely pink thing draped over him. _"You like it?"_

 _"Yes yes yes."_

 _"Good. You keep. You are my lost treasure I love."_

He stared at her. _"Why?"_

She gestured at [ _caw_ ] and [ _warble_ ]. _"They are your little ones you love, you are my little one I love."_

 _"Why?"_

She showed him a picture, and it was him but big, his dad. ...Not Dad, Blue Bat. _"Him that I love. You that I love. Same."_

He was confused and scared. He ran away, holding the pink thing high to hear it jingle.

[ _caw_ ] and [ _warble_ ] ran to meet him. _"[chirp-chirp] feel better now?!"_ they twittered anxiously, glad that he stopped Laughing.

 _"Look at my new pretty thing~! I love it!"_

[ _caw_ ] rolled his eyes; [ _warble_ ] chirped politely.

 _"It's a VERY good thing!"_ [ _chirp-chirp_ ] insisted. He pulled the pink jingly thing tight around himself to hug it and be hugged.

 _"[chirp-chirp] play?"_ [ _warble_ ] asked.

 _"Yes, okay."_ They played, and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] still had the pink thing when they went home, and [ _chirp-chirp_ ] wrapped it around himself when he went to sleep.

xXx

 _"This is an alternate universe, Jackson. You're a version of me from a world called Earth -22, which doesn't exist anymore. You got stranded here during the war with Barbatos, and we would have taken care of you if we'd known who you were. It was our fault we didn't. I'm sorry so many bad things happened to you, Jackson, and we_ _really_ _want to make it up to you, if you'll let us."_

 _"..."_

 _"...Well, in any case...you and I are the same person, so...maybe we could_ _try_ _to get along?"_

Tim the bird angrily watched through the transparent wall. He couldn't hear anything that was being said, but he could clearly see Fake Tim yakking away, laser-pointing at things on a screen. Men and women, all bigger than him, watched intently and asked questions or made comments.

 _'You stole my life. You_ _stole my life_ _.'_

Not that he particularly wanted it back. He had no interest in running a company, and Drake Manor was far too close to the hell house. Having regular food and safe shelter would have been really, really nice, but now he had that with Ivy. Fake Tim had nothing he wanted anymore, but it still wasn't right that he was going around with _Tim's name and Tim's face._

 _"Your world is Earth -22. The world we're in now is Prime Earth. There are tons of different worlds side by side, but they have a lot of the same people in them. I'm the Tim from this world, and you're the Tim from that world. Neither of us stole_ _anything_ _from each other. You're a refugee from a lost world."_

...Fake. He's _fake_ , he's...he stole it. Everything Tim had, what little there was left.

 _"We really care about you, Jackson."_

'Jackson,' hah. No one called him 'Jackson' except the fucking _Bats_. He had a perfectly good bird name, and he had his real name, and even Selina started shortening it to 'Jack' but called him 'Kitten' half the time, anyway. _'I am not Jack's son. I am no one's son, and never was. I'm_ _Tim_ _.'_

...What reason would there be for someone older and more powerful than him to impersonate him, though? Tim was a nobody, no one cared about him except his brothers and kind of Ivy and maybe Harley and _possibly_ Selina. He wasn't any better than garbage as far as the rest of the world was concerned, and who wanted garbage? Batman probably wanted him back, but only to torture. Why hadn't he just swooped in and taken what he wanted? He'd killed everyone else who'd tried to stand between him and his caged birds, [ _chirp-chirp_ ] had said he'd killed the first fucking _Superman_ , so what was stopping him from killing Harley and Ivy?

Why did the other Bats always look at him with such hungry, sad, longing eyes?

Fake Tim finally finished and came out of the glass room, and Tim glared at him.

"Sorry, it ran a little later than I thought it would."

 _'I hate you,'_ Tim thought, because he wouldn't know what to do if he ever stopped hating this usurper who served the Bat.

"Have you had lunch yet?"

"Why ya care?"

"Let's go," Fake Tim said without answering the question. Though Tim knew that if he had, he would have claimed that he cared because they were versions of the same person, which sort of made them brothers, and he didn't want his brothers to go hungry. Tim wished he'd actually said that for the hundredth time so that he could tell him for the hundred-and-first time where to stick it.

"Where?"

"The cafeteria."

Okay, well, fine, it was food. Tim ate everything that was set in front of him. He could tell from the body language that Fake Tim really wanted to turn his attention to the stuff on the chair next to him, likely his phone or the paperwork in his briefcase, but he was making a deliberate effort to keep his focus on Tim.

"So...how's life?"

"Bad."

"How is it bad?"

"You're in it."

Fake Tim snorted. "Well, at least you have the brotherly teasing down."

"Not _brothers_ ," Tim snarled. He had exactly two brothers, and they were both broken birds, not arrogant, annoying businessmen.

"Well, I'll tell you how _my_ week went," Fake Tim said, and he did. Tim wanted to hate him for it, but it was...kind of interesting. Office politics were weird.

"Fire her," he couldn't help commenting at one point.

"Why?"

"Lost your money," was the best he could articulate it verbally. The underling's actions had unnecessarily cost the company hundreds of thousands of dollars.

"I don't fire people for making honest mistakes."

"Set her on fire," Tim said absently, randomly remembering watching corpses being stuffed into an incinerator.

"What?"

"Fire. Burn it all."

"Jackson. Hey, Jack, look at me."

He was rocking, his hands over his ears. Why was he rocking?

"Jack. You're safe." Crouching in front of him, hands on his knees. The weight of those hands the only thing keeping him from drifting out of the chair.

"Mmmm..." He forgot how to make human words. _"He burns them!"_ When he had been very, very small, it had been horrible, but when he was a little bigger, it made him angry. _"No no no want meat, meat is leaving, give it back, give it back, black and gone, smell hurts my nose...!"_

"Jackie. Jack. Hey. It's okay. It's okay, Jackie."

 _"[chirp-chirp]! [caw]!"_ He wanted his flockmates very badly.

"Jackson?"

He blinked. His face, staring at him, worried. ...Tim. _'Hello, Tim,'_ he thought. _'Hello, me.'_

Two worlds. Two Tims. No version of him would _ever_ have grown up to serve a murderer, would he? Not without getting beaten and poisoned and starved first. Fake Tim, with his pretty skin and teeth clean of blood. Fake Tim who'd grown up whole and healthy and loved, he could have run and escaped, but instead he had gone willingly to the hell house to serve the Bat. He would _never_ be real, because the real Tim would _never, ever do that_.

 _"I want to go home,"_ Tim said with his hands.

"Okay... Do you want me to find someone to drive you, or do you want to see if Harley or someone will come pick you up?"

 _"I want Mom."_

"Okay."


	101. Alternate route: Never Adopted - Final

**_The Birds Who Smile_** **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 **Alternate route: Never Adopted - Final chapter (very rough draft)**

Harley found it pretty funny that her son could be such a cute mess 'off the clock' and yet so still, serious, and focused when he was shooting a gun.

"Better that time, Petey!" she cheered when his latest shot made it significantly closer to the bull's eye during target practice.

His eyes flicked to her, and he grinned. _"Good me."_

 _"Best you,"_ she signed back, cooing.

He could be pretty useful on missions, too. He always seemed to know the exact perfect times to break into Joker laughter and scare the pants off of whoever they were trying to intimidate or interrogate, and the sign language came in handy when they needed to communicate soundlessly or at a distance. He had no qualms about doing whatever needed to be done as long as he was convinced that there was a good enough reason for it, and he was sharp, sometimes picking up on cues or threats before she did, or sniffing out dishonesty that she was oblivious to.

"I love you, Petey."

 _"Love you, Mom."_

None of the Sirens shared Peter's love of books, but they all found it rather pleasant to be read to in his husky, halting voice, or even sometimes in bird language if he wanted to enjoy the story more comfortably. Sometimes he'd lounge in the shade of wide-leafed plants to read for hours; if he was indoors, the cats loved to come and lie on his warm, growing body.

"Why are you so big?!" Harley demanded. "You're my baby, you're supposed to be _littler_ than me!"

Peter grinned and put an arm around each of his brothers, who were both smaller than him; Jackson in particular was nearly dwarfed. "Pumme down!" the youngest bird shouted.

Peter lifted instead, as if working out with weights. Jackson screeched in displeasure; John, his gaze remaining distant, curled up his legs and dangled head-downward.

Selina snapped a quick picture to send to Bruce. He never responded, but the next time she spent a night in his bed, she noticed the photograph framed and sitting among all the other pictures on his nightstand.

xXx

Jackson was deeply immersed, a hacking program running on one computer as he delved deep into restricted files on another and occasionally reached over to make a move on the chess game going on his tablet, when he was interrupted.

" _crow_!" he screamed when the laptop under his fingertips was abruptly yanked away. He tried to grab it back, but his flailing hands closed on empty air because the vines wrapped around his body were dragging him back. "GIMME MY COMPUTER!"

"No," Ivy snapped. "You've been glued to your screens for sixteen hours straight-"

"PUMME DOWN, BITCH!"

"-you haven't even _touched_ the _three_ meals I've set next to you during that time-"

"FUCK YOU!"

"-and you need to get off the electronics and spend some time outside, _now_." She gestured, and a vine smacked him across the mouth. "And that's for calling me a bitch. Apologize."

He glowered, tears stinging his eyes, hanging helplessly in vines. "...Sorry."

"Now go outside and play."

"NO!"

The vines started dragging him. He struggled for a minute, then gave up and hung in limp resentment. The vines deposited him in the back garden, all of them retreating except one that remained wrapped around his ankle. He knew it would tighten if he tried to disobey orders, and he knew that injuring or destroying it, or any of Ivy's beloved plants, would earn him a worse punishment than a smack on the mouth. Ivy was more lenient if it was an accident, but the one time he'd thrown a tantrum when he was fourteen and deliberately shredded half her favorite garden, she'd poisoned him with something that made him sick for days. He'd learned his lesson.

Jackson resentfully curled up in the grass and tried to sleep, but his mind was too wired, and he was hot. He finally uncurled again and wandered around, then disabled the security and climbed over the fence. The vine around his ankle eventually reached its limit and released him, but as he walked along the street, he saw every plant he passed turning toward him, spying on him.

He hissed at them and wandered until he reached a playground. He flopped onto a bench and slumped there for a while, arms crossed and glaring. He watched the children playing, the mothers on other benches gossiping. He finally got up and wandered through the equipment, stepping out of the way of a couple of kids chasing each other. He absolutely did not mean to fall asleep in an abandoned, overgrown garden, but that's what he accidentally ended up doing.

He came back home hours later with grass in his hair and dirt streaking his face. "Can I have my computer back now?" he demanded.

"After you eat."

"I can eat while I'm working!"

"You _can_ , but you usually _don't_."

Grumbling and cursing, Jackson ate some random food out of the refrigerator, then moved a cat out of his desk chair and sat down. He'd lost access to the restricted files by now, but at least the hacking program had finished running.

He got back to work. He'd never admit it to his mother, but after the sunlight and exercise, the nap, and the food, he felt a lot better.

xXx

John started to wander - right out of the lab, onto the streets, all around the city. His mothers thought it might be simple restlessness at first, but when they tried to enlist him as a henchman like Peter was by now, he wandered away from that, too.

He attacked would-be muggers, robbers, and rapists; he brought food and blankets to homeless people. He did tricks to make frightened children smile and led police officers to hidden bodies.

"He gets it from _your_ side of the family, Lina," Harley huffed as she helped Selina drag their son home yet again.

"Marrying into a family of vigilantes _doesn't_ make me one, too."

Later, Ivy said, "Rosebud, you can stay out all night to fight evil if you want, but you have to _tell_ us. We worry a lot when we don't know where you went."

 _"This city hurts."_

The tolerated Bats, particularly Nightwing and Black Bat, started training John, fighting him on the streets and rooftops demonstratively enough for him to pick up moves and tactics. Dick gave him a grapple gun one night and taught him how to use it. Bruce sent an armored suit via Selina, though John refused to wear it until the colors had been changed to sky blue and pink.

"What is wrong with you?" Hood accused Nightwing in exasperation the first time they saw the young birthday cake of a vigilante contentedly grappling his way through a neighborhood.

"I think it looks nice," Nightwing defended.

"You would, Discowing."

John didn't seem to know what to do with a comm when the Bats tried giving him one, and the first time he heard Batman's voice rumbling over the line, he hurled his comm away and refused to accept a replacement. He ignored all visiting Titans and Justice League members except for Starfire and Superman, and even then, he seemed far more interested in playing with the fiery hair and inspecting the S than he was in interacting with the people themselves.

He never introduced himself as anything (he very rarely spoke or even signed on patrol at all), so his vigilante persona was named by social media. Civilians shared anecdotes about him and argued about whether or not he was a Bat. A few children and teenagers were spotted dressing up as him when Halloween came around.

John remained a lone figure on the nighttime streets of Gotham until the evening when he happened to be working near Damian Wayne and Mar'i Grayson, the new Batman and Robin.

The bird watched warily, studying the distant figures. The body language and the size were not right; Batman was not Batman.

The little one...he had seen her before, so colorful and bright like a star, like someone else he knew. It was very, very bad for her to be Batman's new bird, but she was so happy, maybe he wasn't hurting her. Maybe he hadn't started the game yet. The bird didn't want to care, but the little one was _so_ small and precious...

He was afraid to go to her, but she went still and looked at him for a long time, and then...she came to him.

She flew, _really_ flew just like a born-bird. Her hair streamed out long behind her like dark fire, her eyes were hidden behind a mask but it didn't look painful, her red/green/yellow feathers were clean and tidy and new. "Hi, Uncle John."

The bird stared at her. Only one person called him that, and now that he looked at her shape and the way her body moved, he knew her. She was 'Mar'i,' Blue Bat's little one. He had never seen her hair dance like fire before, but other than that, she was the same.

 _"Hello, Little Star,"_ he greeted.

She smiled and said something. He didn't know what it was, so he was silent. She floated up and kissed his cheek, and it tingled. Then she twittered in a language he knew, _"You come (sad) with me you that I like, come with me."_

 _"No,"_ he told her, for she belonged to Batman.

Her little shoulders slumped, but then she straightened. _"I stay with you then, you that I like._ Uncle John, will you come home for dinner?"

He thought about Little Star safe at home, with mamas and birds and laughing dogs and plants to protect her. _"You come home, eat good food."_

 _"No,_ _you_ _come to_ _my_ _home. Eat with me and Mama and Papa and the baby."_

He didn't like mamas and papas who would give their little star bird to the Bat. _"No. Bad Mama Papa, I take you home and keep you."_

"Uncle Johhhhnnn!"

"Names, Robin."

"Oh, hi, Da- Nightwing."

The bird turned around, and saw someone perched watching them. _"Blue Bat."_

Robin laughed. "He calls you 'Blue Bat'!"

"What does he call you?" Nightwing asked curiously.

"Little Star."

"Aww, perfect."

Robin bounded over to Nightwing and snuggled into his arms. He smiled at the bird. "Robin's just starting out, but I think she's doing a great job."

"..."

"Did she invite you to dinner yet?"

"He wants me to come to Aunt Pam's. He said he wants to steal me from you."

"Hey, get your own Tamaranean to have kids with," Nightwing teased. John simply looked at him, and the man sobered. "Really, though. We'd love for you to come visit. You haven't seen the baby yet, right?"

This time, John used sign language. _"Keep baby away from Bat."_ He grappled away.

That would have been the end of it, except that Batman and Robin noticed the bird stalking them on patrol afterward. Nightwing came to collect his daughter around two in the morning, and when he noticed that they'd been followed home, he left the window open. When Kori got up hours later, she panicked for a moment when she found the crib empty, but then halted in the living room to find Jake curled up asleep in John's arms on the couch. "What food do you like for breakfast?" she asked her husband's younger alternate universe self.

 _"Good baby,"_ John signed instead of answering the question.

Kori shrugged and went to put some Pop-Tarts into the toaster.

o.o.o

Jackson was sixteen years old when he started considering that _perhaps_ the claim was true that this was a completely different universe than the one he'd been born and tormented in.

He was eighteen years old when he finally worked up the courage to return to Wayne Manor - or, if they were right, to visit it for the first time.

It was Christmas Eve, and most of the family was gathered together for a meal, the majority of them intending to spend the night and at least Christmas Day at the manor. The dining room was as full as it had always been designed for, a rarity in Bruce's lifetime. The patriarch himself was quiet, eating steadily at the head of the table without getting too involved in conversation, but it deeply warmed his heart to hear the lively voices, laughter, and shouts of his children and grandchildren throughout the meal. There were two puppies asleep on his feet. Jason was teasing Damian about Twitter's opinions on the competence of the current Batman compared to the original; little Jake was defending his cousins from his sister and shouting that no powers were allowed at the table; Dick had Tim in a playful headlock for some reason; Cass and Kori were having an enthusiastic conversation in ASL; Duke kept a straight face as he told Terry stories about how crazy the Waynes were, only some of those stories true (the more outrageous ones, in fact); and so on down the entire table.

It was Bruce's phone that alerted him first. Selina, who always insisted on sitting beside him rather than properly at the foot of the table, leaned over his arm to look, and she was the one who first realized what they were seeing. She leaped to her feet with a gasp, scattering annoyed cats.

"What is it, Mom?" Damian asked at once, more than halfway into Batman Mode.

Selina rushed away without answering, and everyone followed her, Bruce quickly assuring worried parents that it was nothing to protect the children from.

Selina drove a golf cart down the long drive until she reached the still so small figure stomping angrily through the snow. "You should have called, kitten, I would have come to meet you."

He ignored her.

"Jack, come on, get on the cart. It's a long walk."

He continued to keep his eyes fixed on the house.

"Jackson, seriously?" She kept pace with him in the golf cart, waiting with an eyebrow raised, until he finally slowed and came to a stop halfway down the drive. He stood there for a long moment, hands clenched. Then he flung himself onto a seat behind Selina and sat rigidly, his arms crossed. "Are you even going to say hello?" she asked.

"..."

"Fine." She pressed her foot against the accelerator. When they neared the house, with the family all waiting in front of the grand front doors, Jackson suddenly clutched one of the poles. He whimpered and then flung himself off the cart.

" _Jack_!" Selina slammed on the brake, too late. " _Tell_ me, don't just _jump off the cart_!"

Jackson had scrambled to his feet. He stared at the family for a long moment, though Bruce was not among them. Then he turned away and started to head down the drive again.

"Tim," Tim called out, moving down the stairs.

Jackson halted.

"You came all the way out here to do nothing, and now, what, you're just going to turn around and go all the way back? _So_ productive."

Jackson whirled to face him and stormily raised a middle finger.

"Hey! There're kids here!" Dick called, raising a hand to cover Jake's eyes. The little boy, sitting in his father's arm, patted at Dick's hand on his face.

Jackson stomped around to a side door near the garage and kicked at it. Tim, coming up behind him, rolled his eyes and pressed his hand against the palmprint reader, and the door unlocked itself and swung open.

Jackson stared into the interior of the house for a long moment. Then, slowly, he stepped inside.

He said nothing as he looked around the mud room, then walked to the kitchen and stared for a while at its shining tile and gurgling dishwasher and tidy rows of spices and the pots and pans soaking in the sink. He paced to the living room and stared at the Christmas tree and decorations and the healthy, dozing pets for a while. He went to the doors to the terrace and stared out at the lawn and gardens, immaculate except for the toys and sports balls that hadn't been put away after the games earlier in the day. He turned and paced upstairs, heading straight to the master bedroom.

He'd been followed all this time by most of the family, the children confused and the adults on edge, but now, people began to fall back. It was only Selina and Tim who leaned in the doorway and watched Jackson looking around the bedroom, studying the photographs and clothes and toiletries in confusion, staring for a long time at the bed. When he saw photographs of himself or his bird brothers, he smashed the frames, extracted the pictures, and tucked them into his pockets.

After a while, Jackson slowly came out, pushing past his mother and his older self as if they were furniture. He gazed down the hallway without really seeing it. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and raised his head and screamed, "BatmaaaAAAAANNN!"

He shouted for his old tormentor all the way down the stairs, then halted when he saw Bruce. The older man stood in the entryway to the living room, silent and grim.

Jackson stared at him for a long minute, his breathing shaky. Then he sank down to sit on the stairs.

Half an hour later, the children were chasing each other around the house and most of the adults were chasing after them or helping clean up after dinner. Bruce was sitting in his easy chair in the living room, staring at a book without reading it. Jackson was sitting on a straight-backed chair on the other side of the room that was meant more for decoration than functionality. Between them lounged Selina, who was flipping through channels on TV, and Tim, who was quietly working on his tablet.

At long last, Jackson rose to his feet. It took him several minutes to cross the living room. Bruce shut the book and waited silently, remaining seated. Selina and Tim went tense as they watched.

Jackson stood in front of Bruce for a very long moment. Then he raised his hand.

Tim was instantly there, catching his wrist, but Jackson stared, reading in Bruce's body language that the man would not have dodged the strike. "...Batman."

Tim released his hand.

"Jackson," Bruce said in a low voice.

"You locked us in cages. Chained us. Starved us and beat us, fed us _Meat_. Drugged us and made us _Laugh_."

"That was the other one. My nightmare."

After a long time, Jackson whispered, "Your nightmare."

"My worst nightmare, come to life. It's you. What he did to you. My sons."

Jackson carefully eyed Tim, who nodded.

Jackson's fists and teeth clenched; his nostrils flared. "I'm - _real_. Not a fucking DREAM!"

"You are real," Bruce murmured. "The nightmares were brought to life. You came into this world. Your screams and your blood...they're real. It's my fault."

After a long silence, Jackson's face crumpled. The strength seemed to leave his body and he slipped to his knees. His hands hit the floor as he wept, then he gave up and lay at Bruce's feet, sobbing into the carpet. Bruce himself had covered his face, tears starting to drip between his hands, shoulders shuddering. Uncertainly, carefully, Selina leaned on the arm of his chair and ran her fingertips across his back; Tim knelt beside his young counterpart and rested a hand on his hair.

Jackson finally sat up and rubbed his sleeve over his face, looking drained. Bruce had gone quiet, elbows braced on his knees and head hanging.

"He's dead?" Jackson asked.

"Yes," Bruce mumbled without looking up. "A long time ago, when you came to this world."

"I wanted to _fucking_ kill him."

There was nothing to say to that.

"Can I kill you?"

"No," Tim said, calmly.

Jackson turned his face to meet Tim's eyes for the first time that night. "Timothy. Jackson. _Drake_ ," he spat.

"The not-nightmare one," Tim agreed.

" _Fuck_ you."

"I'm ace, so no thanks."

"It's _your_ fault."

"I stopped letting people blame me for existing a long time ago."

Jackson clenched his hands so hard his fingernails left red marks on his palms. "What do I... _do_?!"

"You could stay for Christmas," Selina suggested. "You even have presents. Saves me having to bring them over if you open them up here."

Jackson stared at her.

"Jackson," Tim said softly, "you're free. You've been free for five years. Free of Laughs for twelve. You can do whatever you want."

"...I want to go home," Jackson choked out. "[ _chirp-chirp_ ], [ _caw_ ]..."

Selina reached down to ruffle his hair. "I'll take him."

"Will you be back?" Bruce asked in a low voice.

Selina looked at her son. "You want me to stay at the lab tonight, kitten, or can I come back here once I drop you off?"

"Who do you love more?" Jackson challenged. "Me, or _him_?"

"Stay with him," Bruce said at once, his voice flat.

Selina huffed. "I'm not playing that game. If you two are going to fight about it, then I'll go out clubbing with Holly, how's that?"

Jackson sulked, and Bruce frowned.

"Looks like no one will have to drive him," Tim said, checking his phone. He tapped the button to open the front gates.

Bruce stood at the top of the front steps, watching Selina drive Jackson in the golf cart to meet the car waiting just beyond the property line. From that distance, he saw the figures of his two other lost sons throw themselves upon their little brother and drag him into the back seat. Selina leaned beside the window for a while, talking to her co-parents. Then she finally looked back and waved at Bruce before getting into the car.

Bruce exhaled deeply, his heart full of a bittersweet ache as he watched Catwoman, Poison Ivy, and Harley Quinn drive away with his children.

o.o.o

Author's notes: Mar'i being Damian's Robin was an idea I came up with for this specific "Never Adopted" story, but I like it so much that now it's part of my general headcanon. :)

I'm so glad I finished a story! 8'''D This was the second-worst alternate ending to TBWS. I think that Jackson would occasionally visit the manor and gradually feel more comfortable (John & Peter would probably refuse to ever set foot there), but I didn't know how to mention that, since the Sirens driving away with the birds seemed like a good place to end it.

I'm still having troubles in real life that are preventing me from working on the main story, but I've got a lot of other TBWS stuff that I can try in the meantime.


	102. Calm Your Mind

**_The Birds Who Smile: Calm Your Mind_** **(rough draft), a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

 _Inspired by breezy-cheezy_

Author's notes: Like the Christmas vignettes, this might or might not fit with the continuity of the main story. The tone is right even though the specific details might not match up.

o.o.o

Tim had freaking _cut patrol early_ for this, had come home a little after midnight and had _everything_ set up for optimal efficiency and he'd been working for _two hours_ but he _still_ kept finding _mistakes_ in the _code_ and his computer kept beeping with alerts on one of the ten Number One Highest Priority cases he was working on even though he didn't have _time_ to follow up because of the programming he was working on, and there were still three business meetings tomorrow to prepare for and of _course_ the most important one would be the earliest and it DIDN'T HELP that Dick and Damian kept prank-calling him because it was a slow night and they were bored on patrol, calling through the Bat-comm when he blocked them on his phone...

"RRAAAGGGHH."

" _crow_!" Jack, curled up with Bear in a blanket nest on Tim's bed, startled awake at the thump of a thick file folder hitting the wall.

Tim blinked. He'd been the only one in the room two hours ago. He hadn't even heard his little brother come in, much less mess up his bed.

"Timmy mad?" Jack asked anxiously, clutching the nearest pillow.

"No. No one's mad at you, Jackie; I-" Tim sighed deeply and rubbed at his aching eyes. "Go back to bed. Here, I'll walk you to your room."

"Oh no, clean up!" Jack exclaimed, running to pick up all the spilled papers instead.

"No- Jack, it's fine, just leave it, I'll get it later; Jack- Uuugghh." Tim sighed and got down on the floor to pick up papers as well.

Once all the sheets were in a stack, Jack cheered, "Yaaayyy, good job, Jackie and Timmy! Good job."

"Yeah. Okay, let's put you to bed now," Tim said, dragging himself to his feet and picking up the little boy.

"Timmy sleepy, time to go to bed!"

"No, _you're_ going to bed. I still have work to do."

"Timmy sleepy!"

"No, I'm fine, bud." Jack was a small child, but Tim wasn't very big himself, and he was _tired_. He put the boy down before he'd even reached the bedroom door, his arms feeling like lead. "Come on," he said, taking Jack's hand instead.

"No," Jack pouted, yanking his hand away. "Jackie sleep and _Timmy_ sleep. It's nighttime, look!" He pointed at the window.

"I know, but I'm busy and have a lot of work to do, and you don't, so you're the one who needs to sleep, not me."

"Bad Timmy, go to bed!" Jack yelled, starting to push him.

Tim stiffened and held his ground, losing patience as he looked down at his younger self. "Fine, don't go to bed, but leave me alone. I'm busy."

 _"Very busy, forever,"_ Jack signed, still pouting.

"Gotta live up to my name, don't I?" Tim said sourly, and went back to his computer.

Ten minutes later, he made a loud "GGGGNNNGGHHH" sound and slammed his face down on the desk, digging his fingers painfully into his scalp.

"Timmy sick?"

"No, I'm just... _tired_ and I _hate_ this and I need to concentrate on _one thing at a time_ but my brain is all gragahnhurffleaaarggh!"

"Gagaurfaag," Jack imitated sympathetically, and trotted out of the room.

Tim slowly shifted, body sagging as he lowered his arms and pressed his face into them. He wanted to go to _bed_ , but he _couldn't_ , and feeling so trapped made him want to cry, but crying wouldn't solve anything and he was too old to be crying just because there too many things on his To Do List, what a friggin' moron...stupid baby, this is why no one wanted him around, because he was a wreck and no one wanted to be friends with a half-crazy wreck of a human bei-

"Timmy I cannot open it, help please!" Jack yelled, thumping something against him.

Tim moaned in annoyance at the interruption of his wallowing and grabbed the whatever-it-was before Jack could hit him with it again. He raised his head and peered at the lumpy object. It was a packaged set of stim toys. "You want me to open it?"

"Please open the scissors!"

" _With_ scissors," Tim corrected, reaching to get a pair out of a locked drawer.

"Please open with scissors." Jack watched intently as Tim cut open the package, leaning so close at one point that Tim put a foot on him and gently pushed him back. "There you go," Tim said, gathering up the freed toys and holding them out to his little brother.

Instead of grabbing them all out of his hands, Jack started to divvy them up. "Piggy for Timmy," he said, putting the spinner ring on the desk, "piggy for Jackie." The spiral bracelet went into his pocket. "Piggy for Timmy, piggy for Jackie," he said again, setting the infinite rings on Tim's pile and keeping the flower-shaped chewable pendant for himself.

"Fidget," Tim corrected. "It's not 'piggy,' it's 'fidget.' "

"Piggy," Jack agreed. "Piggy for Timmy, piggy for Jackie!" He finished splitting the toys and beamed up at his older self.

"...Jack, these are _all_ your toys. I don't need them like you do."

"No! Piggy make 'gwaah' bain be quiet!"

"I'm- I'm not _anxious_ , I'm just frustrated. I don't need..."

"Hey! Timmy!" Jack pushed the cat-shaped squish toy into Tim's hand. "Pulllll!" he instructed, spreading his arms wide to demonstrate.

Tim stared at the cat toy for a minute, then gritted his teeth and dug his fingernails in, dragging his hands apart. The squishy material stretched wide, but as soon as he let go of one end, the toy popped back into its original shape, none the worse for wear.

"Haha! It's funny," Jack laughed.

Tim silently yanked at the toy for a while, anger seeming to bleed away through his fingertips as the toy's smile remained cheerful and nonjudgmental no matter what abuse he put it through. He finally sat back with a long sigh, feeling drained but in a good, more relaxed way.

Jack climbed into his lap and took hold of his head. "Timmy's bain, be good," he lectured Tim's forehead. "Do not go 'gwahgwahgwah' or you hurt him! Be good, okay? Good Timmy." He let go and smiled. "Better now?"

"...Yeah," Tim said softly. He put his arms around his baby brother and squeezed gently, holding him for a while. Jack snuggled into him, absently sucking on the 'Kryptonite'-shaped chew fidget he'd already been wearing. "You gonna go to bed now?" Tim finally murmured.

"Timmy go to bed?"

"Maybe...in another hour or so..." Tim set Jack on the bed and returned to his work. He temporarily gave up on the coding project, figuring he'd have an easier time tackling it after he'd had some sleep. He emailed his secretary about prep work for the two less-important meetings because it was honestly stuff she could handle, and put together a quick presentation for the more important one. He forwarded most of the case alerts to the Bats' shared drive, figuring someone would have more time than he would to make progress, and took care of the two most time-sensitive alerts.

By then, it was three in the morning, Jack had long ago fallen asleep again, and Tim was done with everything that couldn't wait. He crawled into bed and threw an arm around his little brother, falling asleep more quickly than usual because of how soothing it was to feel Jack's warm weight and hear his steady breathing. ...The absent rubbing at the spinner ring on his finger might have had something to do with it, too.

If anyone at WE the next day noticed the tiny cat face peeking out of Mr. Drake-Wayne's pocket or the whisper-soft, steady clinking sounds coming from under the meeting room table, no one said a thing.


	103. SRD: Jason's return

_The Birds Who Smile_ , a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

SRD: Jason's return

Jason jerked in the Kryptonian clone's arms. "Gah! I told you to wake me up when we were close to Gotham-" He squirmed as he spoke, trying to get free, "-not on the manor's doorstep. Biz, put me down!"

"Red Him home." Bizarro pushed amiably past Bruce, still carrying Jason even though the Red Hood was now struggling in earnest.

"Thanks for the invite, we'd be happy to stay a while," Roy said to Bruce with a grin as Kori walked past, still carrying him.

Bruce sighed and moved back, opening the door wider for Artemis.

Bizarro finally put Jason down and the lead Outlaw complained the whole time he brushed himself off and peeled away his mask. "You okay, Jay?" Dick asked in concern, stepping close and scanning his brother for injuries. "We thought you were dead again."

"Nah, just dead tired."

"You were gone for _ages_ , Jay, all five of you, and no one could figure out where you were!"

"We are safe now, Dick," Kori said gently. "I am sorry you missed the adventure."

"What adventure?!"

" _crow_?" Jack's little voice piped up curiously, almost right behind Jason.

Jason spooked, _leaping_ away and exclaiming, "HOLY crap, monsterbirds, I forgot!"

Everyone's attention turned to the trio of children near Dick. Peter giggled and said, "Dda't mmy Jja'ssonn" before shyly ducking to hide behind John.

The oldest bird's eyes were on Starfire. _"Hello, Pretty Fire,"_ he signed, and Dick interpreted.

"Hello again, little one." She moved close and stooped down to kiss his face. He frowned and rubbed at his forehead at the sensation of knowledge transferring from his mind to hers.

"Holy crap, they're people now," Jason breathed in amazement, taking in all the changes. The twisted, feral creatures he'd left behind were gone, and now in their place were three bright-eyed little boys in pajamas who looked like any other healing abuse survivors. It couldn't have been Bruce who'd brought about such a transformation... Had it been Dick's magic touch again, like he'd done with Damian? Was it Alfred? Zatanna?

"Wait, Kori, John's not fluent yet," Dick said. "You might wanna get another sample. Bruce knows ASL, too," he added, mindful of the other ex-boyfriend present.

Bruce took a step back, alarmed at the thought of being kissed by someone who could collect data from his mind in the process. Luckily, Roy, who was still on Kori's back, rolled his eyes and said, "Whatever, it's not like I had sole kissing rights even when we were together. Just be quick, I'm injured and would really love a bed right now."

Kori stepped close and gently grasped Dick's face, drawing him in and pressing her lips to his temple. She pulled back and they exchanged a brief smile before she turned to the birds and signed with one hand, _"I will take my friend to bed. Will see you in the morning."_

 _"Good night,"_ three sets of little hands gestured, and John added, _"I love you."_

 _"Love you!"_ Kori moved toward the stairs, where Alfred was waiting to show her and Roy to the guest rooms.

*idk transition*

"Jason, where _were_ you?"

Jason exhaled sharply. "Look, Bruce, I _tried_ , okay? First I was gonna be a good little time traveler and follow the rules, but _that_ only lasted about five minutes; then I wasn't gonna save 'em because if you grew up happy, I'd probably die on the streets, but then they were _screaming_ like that after they threw baby-you clear and I was like 'f-" He glanced at the children. "-'eff it' and saved them; except then it didn't flipping matter because you guys went out to a movie to celebrate surviving the fire and they got shot by some random mugger, but at least they went quick this time and didn't take five days to die in agony, okay? I did good; YOU'RE WELCOME."

Jason turned away, his face red, and went a little too enthusiastically to join Artemis and Bizarro in playing with the birds.

Bruce felt like his brain was broken for several full minutes. _'...A FIRE...?!'_

*transition

Jason formed a finger gun and pointed it between Bizarro's eyes. "Buddy," he said conversationally, "if you squish my little brothers, I will put a Kryptonite bullet through your head, I am so serious. Do not sit on them, do not squeeze them, do not break them. Got it? _Be gentle with my baby brothers._ "

"Bizarro not squish Baby-them," the clone agreed.

"Good man." Jason went to crouch in front of the children. "Listen up, chickadees - my friend over there, he's a nice guy, but he's _strong_ , and he's clumsy. Do not get behind him. Always make sure you can see his eyes. If you cannot see his eyes, he cannot see you, and he will squish you and kill you. Got it?"

They gazed at him solemnly.

"Tell me that you understand."

 _"We are cats, he is us,"_ John signed. Jason cocked his head in confusion until Bruce explained that practicing with Damian's pets was how they'd trained the boys to interact with other small, fragile, precious things.

"All right, cool. Pete? Tell me you understand how to play with Bizarro."

"I nno bbe ssquisshh."

"You better not, or there'll be hell to pay when you get back from the Lazarus Pit or Apokolips or _whatever_ the universe uses to barf up Bruce's next dead kid. Jack? How do you play with Bizarro?"

 _"I will always see his eyes."_

"Perfect." Jason straightened up and gestured grandly. "Kiddos, these are my partners, Artemis and Bizarro. Guys, these are Baby-them: John, Peter, and Jack. Peter's basically me from some hell alternate universe, so if anything bad happens to him, I will be extra-mad."

The little boys curiously trotted over to their big brother's teammates. Bizarro crouched and cupped his hands together; Jack climbed into them and sat like a prince as he was lifted. John, clinging to Bizarro's giant forearm like a koala, giggled as he rose.

"Baby-them am cute," Bizarro remarked, studying the children as they clambered over him.

Peter, meanwhile, had headed straight for Artemis. "Hhelllo."

"Greetings, young one."

He raised his arms. "U'pp, plllease." Obligingly, she picked him up, and he gently touched her face just underneath a bright green eye. "Ppre'tty."

She shot a wry look at Jason, who grinned back. "See? I don't have to be grown up and tipsy to tell."

bruce lets barbara know jay's home and safe

artemis & bizarro shown to guest rooms for the night

Peter soon got over his shyness and wouldn't leave his older self alone. He hung onto Jason's hand and dragged him to the birds' room, where he started eagerly showing him toys, photos, posters, and other things of interest. _"This is Dog,"_ he introduced. _"Say hello!"_

"Hi, Dog," Jason chuckled.

[*i am too tired to birdify this dialogue right now] "Hey, hey Big Peter, I have to tell you something important," Jack insisted. "There are TWO places, see? Two! And...and there is a big me and a _little_ me, oh no! And...a big Johnny and little Johnny, and a little Peter, and now look, there is a BIG Peter, too~! And oh no, that Bad Laugh Man, but he is SQUISH like bug and _Daddy_ is a good boy and the Batman, he does not Laugh! He _doesn't_ because it's bad, and yaaaaay!" He looked expectantly at Jason.

Jason stared back, looking perplexed. "Why are you guys so cute?" he asked, sounding like it was a legitimate question.

["Because we li'l monsta babies,"] Jack answered solemnly.

"Nope, that's it, you're mine now," Jason said decisively, scooping the younger boys into his arms. "All mine. I have three children now." Jack crow-shrieked in surprise and Peter giggled madly.

John glared. _"They are my babies, not yours."_

"But how can you have babies when you're a baby yourself?" Jason asked in all seriousness.

transition

Jason ended up sleeping in the birds' bed that night, with Peter cuddled in his arms, Jack curled up at his back, and John draped right over him.


	104. SRD: Aftermath of John let his guard dow

_The Birds Who Smile_ , a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

SRD: Uh...idk how to tastefully label this... Physical aftermath of John letting his guard down

A/N: Did I say I'd post a new scene every week? I meant I'd post a new scene whenever the heck I feel like it.

*first night after "Mended"

xXx

Bruce jerked awake when he sensed an intent gaze. His youngest child, who'd been standing over him and staring, scrambled back. "Jack?"

"Daddy?" the little boy asked anxiously.

"What is it, Jack? What's wrong?"

"Jjohnnny ssad."

Bruce was immediately on high alert and hurried to get out of bed. Jack nervously skipped even farther away, then trotted after him when Bruce strode down the hall to the children's room.

The overhead light and bedside lamps were all still off, but the multiple night lights glowed enough for Bruce to see John, sitting up but curled tightly into himself with his arms around his folded up legs, and Peter, standing over his brother and twittering in an encouraging way. As soon as Bruce entered, John hid his face against his knees and Peter ran to hide under the desk.

"John, what's wrong? What hap-?" Although the boy did not move or speak, Bruce was now close enough to detect the smell. "...Johnny," he said softly, "it's okay. You're not in trouble." There was no response except that John started to tremble a little.

"Daddy mad?" Jack asked anxiously. _"Angry? Bad boy?"_

"No. There was just a little accident, but it's okay. Nobody is angry and nobody is in trouble. We'll just clean it up and then you boys can go back to sleep." Although he wasn't at all angry with John for wetting the bed, he had to hide how disturbed he was that it had happened. _'If it's not one thing, it's another...'_ Just when the boy _finally_ seemed to be getting better, here was yet another cause for concern, though Bruce had no idea why incontinence was suddenly a problem now when it hadn't been before. Shouldn't John be _less_ stressed out now that he knew the truth? ...Or did anxiety strike deeper than before, now that he'd finally let his guard down?

He meant to ask the younger boys, but forgot when John, at the words 'clean up,' suddenly jumped out of bed and started yanking his clothes off, sobbing hard by the time he curled up in the bathtub with his arms over his head.

"John, it's all right," Bruce said in a pained voice, following him in. "You're safe. Do you want a bath, or do you just want to rinse off?"

There was no response, and Jack soon came in holding Elephant. "Daddy, Jjohnnny ssad!"

"Thank you, Jack, but Elephant will not like it if we let her get wet. Here, these are better," he said, pulling the tiger and bear bath toys out of the plastic basket that was suction-cupped to the wall. When he put them into John's hands, the boy stopped crying and clutched them hard, staring at them. Jack watched intently at Bruce's side, and Peter from the doorway, as Bruce started to run the bath.

"Daddy," Jack insisted, "I ccean!"

"Yes, I know, you don't have to take a bath again."

"Jjohnny ggoo'd bboy?"

"Yes."

Jack relaxed and started to pet John's hair, twittering at him soothingly.

After a long moment, John clutched the bath toys to his chest so he could use one hand to sign shakily, _"Scared, bad dream, scared."_

"I'm very sorry that you had a bad dream, Johnny."

 _"Batman Laugh kill brothers hurt kill me."_

"It was just a dream. It's not true, it didn't happen. The Man Who Laughs is dead, you are safe here and we all love you."

John finally looked directly at him. _"...B?"_

"What is it, Johnny?"

For a long time, John seemed to want to say something, but didn't express it. The way he was lying down meant that Bruce couldn't let the tub fill very high, so he turned the water off. It was quiet for a while, until Jack got bored and wandered out of the bathroom. John finally signed, _"You love me?"_

"Very much, Johnny. I love you very much.

 _"Protect me."_

"I would do anything to keep you safe, Johnny."

John finally relaxed a little and shivered. _"Cold."_

As Bruce was pulling a towel out of the cabinet, he heard "Poker Face" starting to play in the bedroom. He hastily wrapped John in the towel and carried him to an armchair, then went to check Jack's phone.

"MMAI! MMAI!"

"I'll give it back in a minute," Bruce said, holding the flailing child back with one hand as he raised the phone high with the other. Thankfully, the six-year-old wasn't watching the official music video; someone seemed to have filled a folder on the phone with videos of Jack's favorite songs paired with child-safe pictures. The resulting thumbnails were easier for the boy to distinguish between than text filenames, and Bruce wondered which of his older children had thought to do that for their little brother. "Here."

Jack snatched his phone back as soon as it was offered and crawled to a corner of the bed, hunching protectively over his treasure.

Bruce rubbed at his face and looked around. The older boys were still watching him, John curled up in a towel nest and Peter crouched over him. "All right, John, come here, I need to show you something. Peter, you may come also if you want. Oh, and let me get Elephant."

Peter dashed back when Bruce approached and crowed, angrily helpless. John trembled when Bruce touched him but compliantly got to his feet and followed, clutching the towel tightly around him and Elephant under his arm.

"Look, Johnny," Bruce said gently. "I'm putting some pairs of underwear for you here in this drawer, and I'll tell Alfred to get some pull-ups you can wear at night; they'll be in the drawer, too. And we'll put something on the mattress, so nothing will get damaged if it happens again. If it does, if you wake up and it's wet and smells bad, don't worry. It's okay, no one will be angry. You can call for me, or Dick or Alfred or whoever you want. Or if you don't want help, you can come in here and change into a fresh pull-up and throw the old one away, and go right back to sleep. All right? Or if you just want someone to come comfort you, you can call us for that, too. Someone will sit with you, or read to you or sing to you or whatever you like." He paused. "Do you understand?"

 _"...You are angry. Not angry...?"_

"Not angry," Bruce said firmly. "I am not angry at all. If you wake up wet again, we will help you. John? What happens if you wake up wet again?"

 _"...Help, clean."_

"Yes, that's right. Good boy."

The bedsheets still smelled and needed to be changed. Bruce got John dressed and loaded him into a wagon along with Jack, who was now wholly absorbed in his phone. Peter didn't want to get into the wagon and it was too heavy for him to pull easily, but he did follow at a distance as Bruce went down the hall with the wagon handle in one hand and a laundry bag slung over his other shoulder. Peter did _not_ like being trapped in the elevator with Bruce, but he was also unwilling to lose sight of his brothers, so he hunched as far away as he could get, clutching a fork. Jack apparently wasn't the only one adept at palming potential weapons during mealtimes.

"I'm going to have to have Alfred start counting the silverware every meal as if it's the *?th century*, aren't I," Bruce remarked dryly.

Peter raced out of the elevator as soon as it came to a stop and resumed stalking his father from a safe distance away. The other boys were fine in the wagon, which Bruce pulled all the way to the laundry room. Then he filled the washing machine with the bedsheets, read all the directions on the appliance and on the box of detergent carefully, and held his breath when he finally started the cycle, hoping he hadn't done anything horrendously wrong.

He felt a little triumphant as he faced his sons again. Jack was still doing his best impression of a phone-obsessed millennial; John was curled up, gazing him out of the very corner of his eye. "Next mission: find fresh sheets," Bruce said. "And a tarp." The tarp was easy enough; he fetched one from the garage as the boys waited in the hall just past the mud room.

Bedding was harder. He tried the first linen closet he came to, but the sheets he found ended up not fitting the children's bed. As it turned out, there were actually spare sheets stored on a high shelf in the boys' closet, though when Bruce pulled down a set and started unfolding the fitted one, Jack piped up, "No, Daddy, I ddon' wwan't dat one!"

"Jack, John is tired and needs to go to sleep. We need to put sheets on the bed so he can get some rest."

"Bbu't I wwan't wwobots!"

Bruce squinted, trying to puzzle out the word. "...Robots?"

 _"Yes! Teach me!"_

"This is 'robot,' " Bruce said, signing the new word.

 _"Robot robot robot!"_

Bruce looked and was a little surprised to indeed find a set of sheets with robot designs. This time it was Peter who objected.

 _"I want dog!"_

"Oh for the love of-" He rubbed at his face in exasperation. "Look, John is the one who needed the sheets changed, so John gets to pick, all right?" He turned to the oldest boy. "Johnny, which set of sheets do you want? Jack wants the robot sheets and Peter wants the dog sheets, but I want to know which sheets _you_ want."

 _"...Blue."_

"Blue sheets?" Bruce went yet again to the closet. He didn't know if John had meant the dark Nightwing-themed sheets or the eggshell blue set, so he pulled down both. John pointed to the brighter color, and relaxed a little when Bruce unfolded the sheets and struggled to apply them to the mattress over the tarp. "Stop whining, Jack; you'll get a turn to pick the sheets later." He frowned at how loudly the tarp was crinkling as he fought with the bedding. Would the boys be able to sleep with that thing crackling in their ears at every move? _'I'll ask Alfred in the morning if he has something better to replace it with...'_

The bed ended up with two corners of the fitted sheet reasonably hooked over them, the third painfully stretched, and fourth with a tear in the seam from when Bruce had unsuccessfully tried to force it over the last corner. He guilty piled some books on it to weigh it down. "That is...the best I can do..." He took a deep breath and turned to the birds. Jack was asleep already, curled up in John's discarded towel with his still-bandaged*?* thumb in his mouth. Bruce moved him to the bed and then called to the older kids, "All right, boys, time to sleep."

*john makes bruce sing except they still won't all sleep in the same room as b without a guard, blaaahhh...

*alfred's like "seriously bruce" and replaces the friggin' _tarp_ with a plastic mattress cover. they get some pull-ups and it happens a couple more times (second time is very mild), but john takes care of it himself (only sign it even happened is that they find the soiled pull-ups in the trash the next morning) and it soon clears up on its own (i mean he probably still has nightmares but the bedwetting stops)


	105. SRD: Cars are dangerous

**_*PLEASE READ THIS CHAPTER ON AO3*_**

 _The Birds Who Smile_ , a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

SRD: Seatbelt training ("cars are dangerous" slideshow)

*i REALLY need to gauge the true story flow for this to work, but this is the best i can do for now. I know some readers are getting even more tired of the seatbelt scenes than I am of writing them, but I have to go at the kids' pace, and it just doesn't feel natural to have them skipping straight from hating it to being okay with it.

*alfred and the babies are up early as usual; bruce didn't sleep well because he kept getting up all night to check on all his children; everyone else is sleeping in late

*he's been trying to convince the kids to come to breakfast; they keep huddling in the entryway and look ready to bolt

"Why don't you want to eat?" Bruce finally asked in exasperation, putting down the box of cereal.

 _"No seatbelts!"_ Jack demanded, and Peter growled in agreement.

Bruce set his face in his hand, feeling suddenly exhausted. He hadn't even been thinking about seatbelt practice until that moment, and he'd certainly never intended to associate it with breakfast. "All right, look, I'm going to show you something I've been working on." He went to get his laptop.

The boys were picking at plates of food when he came back, but as soon as they saw him, John ducked under the table, Peter grabbed the closest plastic tableware to use as weapons and stood up on his chair, and Jack ran to stand between Bruce and his brothers like a tiny human shield, yelling, "No no no no NO!"

Bruce sat down on the floor and opened the laptop. Jack chirped in cautious interest and crept a little closer.

"Boys, look. Cars are big, heavy machines that can do a lot of damage to a human being if something goes wrong. Things go wrong many times every day." He had tried to pick photographs that struck a balance between destruction and discretion: lots of mangled, shattered vehicles, but no close-ups of corpses.

"Oh no," Jack said softly.

Peter, who'd approached and was staring over Jack's shoulder, asked, _"What happened?!"_

"The drivers of these cars made a mistake, and the cars hit each other and were destroyed. What do you think happened to the people inside?"

 _"...Dead."_

"Some of them, yes, because they were not wearing their seatbelts."

Peter narrowed his eyes and hissed.

Next was a crudely-animated computer simulation, enough to convey the idea without getting gory. "This is what happens when there's an accident and the people are not wearing seatbelts. There's the impact, and then the person gets flung around. Sometimes he goes right through the windshield - the glass breaks, and all those sharp pieces cut him and hurt him. Then he keeps going, and often he lands so hard that he dies."

"Daddy, dat is... Do nnot llet dem do dat!" Jack cried as Peter touched the crumpled, generically human-shaped form on the screen.

"All right, look. This is what happens when there's an accident and the people are wearing seatbelts. There's the impact...maybe they are a little hurt, but look. They don't go through any windows, they don't hit the ground. They're still alive and protected."

He switched to photos, mostly of people recovering. "This person was not wearing a seatbelt. He is alive, but look how sad and hurt he is. This person _was_ wearing a seatbelt. Her neck was a little sore for a while, but now she is completely recovered and can play with her children, see? This person was _not_ wearing a seatbelt..."

Peter and Jack had a long, twittered conversation, stealing glances at Bruce. John, looking miserable, said nothing, but finally looked at Bruce and signed, _"Elephant."_

"You want me to fetch Elephant?"

John set his hands on the ground and rested his forehead on them. Bruce went to get the stuffed animal, and John snatched it as soon as it was offered. The boy hugged it tightly and squeezed his eyes shut, trembling a little when Bruce picked him up but not resisting. "Just five seconds, Johnny," Bruce whispered to him, his heart aching. "I will _not_ hurt you."

John did not speak or move. Even after he'd been unbuckled again, he continued to sit there hugging Elephant, though he did open his eyes and relax minutely when Bruce took his own turn being buckled in.

 _"Daddy tie himself,"_ Jack giggled.

"Whose turn is it next?" Bruce asked.

Peter jumped back, and Jack yelled, "No!"

"All right, well, I'm going to get John's reward, and then maybe you'll have decided by then." He went to the kitchen and then returned to find John still huddled in the car. He offered the choices, and after a moment, John picked a multicolored popsicle. When Bruce had unwrapped it for him, the boy put it into his mouth and tipped to the side. He lay there sucking at the cold sweetness as he continued to clutch Elephant.

"Daddy I wwan't ai ceam!" Jack yelled.

 _"Ice cream~!"_ Peter signed.

"If you want ice cream, then put your seatbelt on."

"Nnooo, bu't, bbut Daddy, I, I do nno't wwan't to do da sseatbbe't, an', an' it is ss'cary, Daddy! Hey, llisten to me!"

"I'm listening," Bruce said as he set the timer for Peter, who had sighed very deeply but finally crawled into place to be buckled.

"Be'ccause it mmake ll'il buh, babies ssad, Daddy, oh no!"

"Oh no," Bruce agreed, pulling a basket of distractions out from under the seat and handing some books to Peter.

"Be'ccause, Daddy, llook, no * _gwah gwah_ * ccar be'ccause it be ssafe hh, here in hhouse!"

"This is practice, Jack. If you practice wearing a seatbelt in the garage where it's safe, then you will _also_ be safe when the car is driving on the roads with other cars."

The timer went off. Peter threw the books aside, made wild grabby hands at the cooler, and cheered happily when he was given his treat. To Bruce's surprise and amusement, the boy actually forgot he was still wearing the seatbelt until he'd finished gobbling his ice cream sandwich and tried to get up. He started to scream.

" _Push_ , Peter, remember? Right here, this button, push and it will come off."

After some fighting with the buckle, Peter sprang free and scrambled out of the car. He looked around wildly, then glared at Bruce and demanded, _"ICE CREAM."_

"You want another ice cream for wearing the seatbelt longer than you had to?"

 _"ICE CREAM."_

"How about chips?"

Peter eyed the offered alternative, then made grabby hands.

"Nnooo, Daddy, it is _nno't_ Jjackie's tturn!"

"Come here, Jack."

"No, be'ccause, llisten, Daddy, mmaybe, mmaybe I do nno't wuh, wann't ai ceam, bbe'ccause it ccooold, Daddy, oh no, whha't I hhaffa do t' ggetta b'eak 'rroun' hhere, man...!"

The little boy babbled and protested the entire time he had his turn, right up until he was offered his reward, upon which his demeanor abruptly changed and he cheered, "Yyaaayy, ggoo'd jjob, Jackie, ggoo'd jjob!"

"Good job, Jackie," Bruce murmured, watching the child eat his ice cream. He looked at the oldest bird. "John, when are you going to come out of the car?"

 _"Every morning, tie birds, good job, ice cream. Every morning."_

"Good job putting words together, but this is 'every morning.' "

 _"Every morning,"_ John repeated, using the new sign rather than the ones for 'every' and 'morning.'

"It won't be forever, John, it's just until you can endure the seatbelts during normal car rides. Then we can stop with the practice, when you're able to handle it for real."

 _"You tie birds but do not hurt them. Why?"_

"Why do you think, John?"

 _"Why?"_ John demanded, narrowing his eyes.

"I don't hurt you because I love you, and because it's wrong to hurt children."

 _"Again."_

Bruce briefly closed his eyes. "I love you. It's wrong to hurt people. The Man Who Laughs was wrong to hurt you. I love you and will never hurt you."

 _"Give me ice cream."_

"I already did."

 _"Sing."_

"I will if you come out of the car."

*i think i kind of meant the following scene, which i wrote a long time ago, to go after a seatbelt session, but it doesn't really work here. i have to either do major repairs on the transition or relocate the scene

*in the living room with the whole family now

"Ii ssssorry I mmmayyyy-"

"Later, John, not now," Bruce said, gently trying to unhook the child's fingers from his shirt.

John simply gripped tighter and started yanking. "II SSORRY I MMAY-"

 _[*THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH IS CENSORED BECAUSE FFN IS STUPID*]_

Other than the initial surprise, Bruce's other children were dead silent throughout the song, their attention riveted. When he reached the end, Dick and Duke cheered; Tim was exclaiming faintly, "What just _happened_?!" and Jason was back to child-friendly swearing.

"What the _heck_ , Bruce! What was _that_?! You can sing?!"

Bruce couldn't think of anything to say, so he said nothing and looked stony.

"He used to sing to me when I was little," Dick spoke up. "Maybe he decided I got too old after a while."

"He sings to John every day," Duke added.

"Oh!" Jason yelled in a mixture of playfulness and indignation, "OH, so you'll sing to _Dick_ and the _birds_ , but not to me, is that it?"

"Jason-"

"I _knew_ it! You really don't love me as much as them," Jason finished, a huge grin hiding a bit of real hurt.

Bruce sighed internally. He knew exactly what he was about to get himself into, because Jason would absolutely call his bluff if he wasn't sincere, but...it was worth it. After all the ways he had failed his second child, this was something he could give. "Would you like me to sing to you, Jason?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

Jason's answering grin was sharp. "I dare you."

"What would you like me to sing?"

"Doesn't matter," Jason said, looking skeptical. "Anything."

"I got it, I got it," Dick said eagerly, shoving his phone at Bruce.

Bruce looked at the sheet music with lyrics he was being presented with. " 'Firework'?" he read from the top. It looked vaguely familiar; he'd probably come across it at some point, either during pop culture research or overhearing one of Dick's playlists.

"Pffft, there's no way," Jason scoffed dismissively. "Bruce is physically incapable of singing Katy Perry even if he had a gun to his head."

Bruce was starting to feel insulted. He actually _wanted_ to prove Jason wrong now.

 _[*THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH IS CENSORED BECAUSE FFN IS STUPID*]_

The next bit was drowned out by the boys' laughter, but they soon shushed each other.

 _[*THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH IS CENSORED BECAUSE FFN IS STUPID*]_

"It's fine," Jason mumbled, waving his hand.

 _[*THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH IS CENSORED BECAUSE FFN IS STUPID*]_

Everyone listened in total silence as Bruce continued, broken only by a couple of them chuckling quietly when Bruce felt compelled to replace words like 'gotta' with 'have to.'

 _[*THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH IS CENSORED BECAUSE FFN IS STUPID*]_

Jason turned away, took a Rubik's Cube out of his pocket, and unhurriedly started working at it, his face impassive. Most of his siblings continued to watch Bruce, spellbound.

 _[*THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH IS CENSORED BECAUSE FFN IS STUPID*]_

Halfway through, Jason had gone still, face completely turned away, tense muscles belying his casual pose. It was pretty obvious Bat body language for _"Don't look at me until I stop crying,"_ but no one called him out on it, even Damian (though that could have been because Damian was intently preoccupied with his phone).

 _[*THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH IS CENSORED BECAUSE FFN IS STUPID*]_

When he finished, his face was warm. Jason still hadn't moved, but the others all burst into cheers. Bruce wasn't quite sure whether it was encouragement for exhibiting vulnerability or genuine approval of his performance.

Damian was now insistently pushing his phone at Bruce. "This one, Father! I want this one."

Bruce stared at the new set of sheet music. He hadn't intended to sing for anyone other than Jason, but it wouldn't be fair if he refused. " 'Tavalodet Mobarak'?"

Damian lifted his chin imperiously. "I've been living with a proper family for three years now, but no one has yet wished me a proper birthday."

"What are you talking about?!" Dick yelped. "I know we screwed up this year, but we threw you parties the other times!"

"I am not faulting the parties. But that _song_ , Richard! 'Happy Birthday To You' is a substanceless piece of garbage; I want a _real_ birthday song! Everyone but Pennyworth owes me for my thirteenth birthday, anyway. And I want..." A lull fell as everyone curiously watched the sudden pensive expression on his face. "We went to Tehran once...when I was still with the League, we passed by a birthday celebration. There were so many guests, and everyone looked so happy..."

 _[*THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH IS CENSORED BECAUSE FFN IS STUPID*]_

Damian's resulting smile was huge, and made everything worthwhile. Then Jason, who had recovered now that the spotlight was off him, actually joined in. Although his Persian wasn't fluent, he did know most of the song. Dick started to clap in time to the beat, and almost everyone joined in. Even the children, excited by the family's high spirits, began to dance, hopping and spinning.

 _[*THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH IS CENSORED BECAUSE FFN IS STUPID*]_

"Whoooooo!" everyone shouted, the rhythmic clapping turning to applause.

" _crow_! _crow_!" the birds shouted, for once in excitement rather than fear or anger.

"My turn, my turn, my turn!" Dick finally exclaimed, presenting Bruce with his song request.

Bruce resigned himself to his fate and dutifully sang "*title*" to his eldest, who beamed the entire time, even in the moments when tears shone in his eyes.

"Me," Cassandra said next, proudly. "Any, any."

So Bruce sang her "*title*," and then he turned expectantly to Tim.

Timothy, who had been watching the entire time with great amusement and interest, looked surprised. "Oh - no, I'm fine."

There was a collective outcry. "Oh come ooooooonn, Tim!"

"BRUCE is gonna SING FOR YOU!"

"Really, I'm good. It's nice listening to all of them, I don't need one for myself."

"Don't you _want_ one for yourself?"

"Even if I did, I can't think of any songs!"

Dick thrust his phone at Bruce. "Sing this for Timmy."

Bruce scanned quickly over the lyrics and approved. _"*lyrics*..."_

Tim's don't-look-at-me-cry pose was more subtle than Jason's, at least at first. By the end of it, he was fighting back tears in Bruce's arms (not very successfully), with Jack patting his head and Jason sitting supportively nearby, as Dick and Damian argued about respect for people's feelings.

" _You'd_ be crying, too, if you were in his place!"

"I've experienced _far_ worse trauma than him and I am perfectly capable of keeping my composure!"

"If I had an entire day to list everything wrong with that sentence-"

"Hey," Duke interrupted, "Tim's not crying anymore, and it's my turn."

Tim was, in fact, looking very fed up *idk what to write here*

Bruce looked at the new song selection and sighed.

"What?" Duke teased, "I'm not your real kid, so I don't get a song? Ohhhh, I see how it is."

Bruce raised an eyebrow and started to sing, doing his best to make the piece sound remotely musical. Duke laughed and settled back to listen in appreciation.

*except i decided after initially drafting this to avoid heavy metal so now what do i doooo for duke's song...*

 _[*THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH IS CENSORED BECAUSE FFN IS STUPID*]_

Alfred smiled and came to sit on a couch. They watched each other as Bruce sang, Alfred occasionally mouthing the words, both of them remembering faraway, golden days when Martha Wayne had once sung for her family.

 _[*THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH IS CENSORED BECAUSE FFN IS STUPID*]_

The song came to a close. Bruce's entire family was quiet, relaxed and heavy-lidded like they were drugged.

Alfred finally murmured, "It is certainly good to hear you sing, my boy."

Bruce couldn't even remember now why he'd been so adamant to keep his music to himself all these years. He _enjoyed_ singing for his family. And they enjoyed being sung to - not a single one of them had left the room, as they would certainly have done if they'd had enough.

"For my next birthday," Dick said dreamily, "I want Dad to sing to me in front of aaaaall my friends."

Bruce still had limits. "No."

xXx

A/N: I have not read fanfiction on this site for a very long time, but yesterday I did, and left a couple of reviews. 24 hours later, those reviews have still not showed up, so I guess FFN is eating reviews now. *sigh* Yet more reason to loathe this awful site.


	106. SRD: Mask scars

_The Birds Who Smile_ , a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

SRD: Removing the mask scars / birds are now official

*oh, wait, earlier that day:

"Boys, today we are going to remove these mask scars." Both John and Peter shied away from his hand when he tried to indicate what he was talking about, so he pointed to his own face. "Around your eyes here, there are scars, and we have to take them off so that Dick and Jason will be safe. All right?"

*transition

*That afternoon?,* Bruce took the children to the Watchtower, the older boys to undergo a procedure and the youngest simply to keep them company. Jack's facial scarring was minimal and formed no particular shape, but it had been a high priority for a while to get John's and Peter's mask scars removed. It would be easiest and safest to use the same equipment the Bats always used to get rid of their most incriminating scars, particularly on their faces. Overuse had some unpleasant side effects and took a toll on the body, but the birds' mask scars were shallow and a single use of the equipment on a relatively small percentage of skin would do them no harm.

Bruce had not been at all prepared for any emotional harm. As soon as they stepped out of the Zeta Tube, John took one look at the view of space and started screaming.

"John!"

*oh, wait, i forgot that in my version, bwl had already killed the justice league before he captured john. hmm... _if_ i go with the more canon version, john has a panic attack and no one, including the younger birds, has any idea why until he starts scream-twittering about people dying, bruce makes the kids translate, and finally realizes that bwl had made john help kill the justice league on the watchtower. but I don't want to mess with the awful prequel any more than i have to, so i'll probably just stick with the more low-key version even though it's less interesting to write... #writingisafunchallenge

a single use of the equipment on a relatively small percentage of skin would do them no harm.

Bruce, wearing a mask and nondescript black clothing, stepped out of the Zeta Tube with three little hands securely tucked into his and a bag of toys hanging over his shoulder. Peter, unhappy at the noise and brightness of the quick journey, dramatically flung himself out of Bruce's loosened grip, then crowed in surprise at the view from the window-wall of Earth floating in a sea of stars. The children made a beeline for the transparent wall and pressed against it, twittering curiously.

"We are in space right now," Bruce explained, stepping up beside them. "This is the Watchtower, where I come to work sometimes. That is Planet Earth. The Justice League works hard to keep it safe."

He waited until the children had had their fill of staring and then exploring a bit. He got them set up with the toys in what was technically a cell in the brig, though the little room was so clean and futuristic that the boys thankfully didn't seem to recognize it as such, especially since the holograms in the walls were already set up with a peaceful view of a flowery mountain meadow. None of the children noticed the gentle whoosh of the door closing them in. They continued to act out an elaborate story with their action figures and animals as the air coming into the cell started being laced with carefully measured gas.

They didn't seem to register anything odd when they got sleepy, either. The older boys dragged blankets into a corner to make a nest, and Peter offered to stand watch as the other two curled around him. He gazed sleepily at the hologram meadow for a while, then eventually leaned back against the wall.

When all three boys were fast asleep, Bruce opened the cell again. He gently loaded them into a blanket-filled supply transport and moved them up to the medical bay.

The procedures themselves were uneventful. First John and then Peter were laid in the machine and strapped down so they wouldn't move in their sleep. When Bruce noticed them frowning, perhaps subconscious sensing the restraints, he asked J'onn to soothe their dreams, and each boy's face soon smoothed out again.

Bruce, well-practiced by now, stared at the main screen, moving his hand to manipulate the specialized lasers. Collagen was slowly repaired, discoloration was altered to match its surroundings. Bruce applied the medication afterward that would protect the sensitive new skin, bandaged the boys' faces, and carried them back to the transporter nest.

Once Peter was finished, Bruce stepped back and exhaled in relief. He knew how traumatic even such a simple procedure would probably be for his poor birds, so he was glad they had remained unconscious the whole time. He moved them into a dimly lit room with soft music playing and left them to awaken when they were ready.

*when they wake up, they really don't like the bandages because it reminds them of the domino masks, but grudgingly stop picking at them when Jack, not wanting to be left out, asks for facial bandages, too

xXx

*i don't know how to write it in real time, but the kids are legal people now. they are officially classified as permanent refugees from another planet or universe (kori falls into this category, for example) and also as clones / au counterparts / etc. of dick, jason, & tim (kon would fall into this category if he didn't have a secret identity). since they are orphaned minors and their prime beings are adults, the older boys are, by default, the sons of their prime beings. tim, as an emancipated minor, is an unprecedented case, and also falls into the small age range of teenagers who can choose whether their counterparts will be designated their sibling or their child. tim chooses to make jack his brother instead of his son.

xXx

Now that the children had _finally_ been more-or-less convinced that Bruce was not their abuser, he dared to bring in social services directly. The delay might have ordinarily worked against him, but CPS had been just as overwhelmed by the Batpocalypse as the rest of the city had, and had been slower to recover. The birds, who were safe and cared-for, had been low on the priority list for as long as Bruce wanted them to be; there was a city full of displaced children who'd needed more urgent help.

Finally, however, an appointment was made and a social worker came out to the manor. *gaaahhh, this is hard to write; Bruce goes over what to say and what not to say with the kids and researches cole, who's fresh out of college. cole arrives and alfred greets him at the door, kids are playing in the living room and bruce is anxious

"Wow, Mr. Wayne, hi!" Cole said, shaking his hand.

"Hello."

"Wow, this house is amazing! You could fit a hundred kids in here," the man laughed.

"Am I allowed a hundred?" Bruce tried to joke, and Cole burst into more laughter.

"All right, cool, so where're the kiddos?"

"They're in the living room, this way."

Bruce was horrified to walk in and find John buck naked, the three boys playing with cars and action figures as if nothing was amiss. "JOHN!"

That was a mistake as well. John flinched violently and Peter fled to the closest hiding spot.

 _"No Daddy don't be mad, don't be mad!"_ Jack pleaded with both his voice and his hands as he backed away.

Bruce took a deep breath, trying to calm down as he grabbed John's clothes from the floor where they'd been discarded (thank God they were still in the room, at least, indicating that the boy _had_ been wearing them recently). "I'm not angry. I'm not angry, it's all right; Johnny, let's get you dressed..."

John was whimpering and shaking, staring at Bruce's face as he submitted to being dressed. "Mmma'dd," he whispered.

"No. No, chum, I'm not mad. I just need you to keep your clothes on, all right? Look, we have a visitor. This is Mr. Sullivan, the one I told you about."

To his relief, Cole didn't look disapproving of Bruce's parenting fail. He stooped to shake John's hand and cooed, "Hi, Johnny, my name is Cole! What was wrong with your clothes, buddy? Were they itchy?"

John stared at him.

"Jjohnny ssay Daddy ppu't cc'oes on, bu't Bbad Llaugh Man ffow dem _awway_!" Jack announced loudly. He pointed. "Is Daddy, ssee?"

"Awwww, aren't you a cutie! You guys wouldn't hurt a fly, would you; and they told me you ate people!" Cole laughed, as if the very idea was ridiculous. Bruce was glad the man didn't understand when Peter signed, _"No more eat people"_ from where he was peeking around the couch.

"You can probably already tell," Bruce said, "but this is John, the oldest, and the youngest is Jack. That's Peter over there. Peter, please come out here and say hello to Mr. Sullivan."

 _"You are not angry?"_

"No, I'm not."

 _"Yell!"_

"I yelled because I was surprised and dismayed, not angry. But John is wearing clothes now, so everything is all right. You're safe, Peter."

Peter came to a decision and scampered out, shyly circling around Cole and coming to a stop behind Jack.

"Hi, Peter! Wooww, you're cute, too!"

Peter tilted his head in confusion, then pointed to Jack. _"He is cute."_

"All of you are cute," Bruce said.

"Yup, that's right!" Cole agreed. "You guys are my very first kiddos ever! I'm so happy to meet you!"

Bruce raised an eyebrow at the frank admission of inexperience. It worked in his favor here, but Cole really was green if he hadn't realized that would be an unwise comment. "Recent hire?" he asked, already knowing the answer but having to play dumb.

"Yup! I'd applied for this job before the apocalypse, didn't get it at first but now they need more people. I just finished training this morning, in fact!"

"I see," Bruce said politely, trying to hide a smile.

*cole talks to the kids and the rest of the family, looks over the house, and cheerfully makes bruce the kids' temporary guardian. now bruce needs to start scheduling stuff and looking into schools

*here's how it all eventually shakes out: dick retains his parental rights, but names bruce as john's guardian and leaves the brunt of the childrearing to him. jason refused to give bruce guardianship, but he does informally let bruce raise peter, and bruce is legally allowed to make medical and educational decisions for peter. bruce formally adopts jack, whose legal name is now Jack Thomas Drake-Wayne.

xXx

Bruce must have fallen asleep *while doing WE work on his laptop as the kids play in the living room*, because he started awake at Alfred's voice exclaiming sharply, "Master John!"

He found the butler and the boy in a standoff, Alfred on one side of the couch holding a pair of pants, John naked on the other side of the couch, eyes and body clearly indicating that he'd keep the couch between them no matter which direction Alfred tried. Peter and Jack were watching solemnly.

"John, what are you _doing_?" Bruce said in exasperation, getting up. He approached with the intention of helping Alfred corner his quarry, but John backed away, giving up his tactical advantage. He watched Bruce intently and came up against the wall.

"John," Bruce said cautiously, holding the shirt he'd scooped up on the way. "You can be naked in your own bedroom or in any bathroom, but when you're in this part of the house, you need to wear clothes." John did not speak or move. Bruce, feeling helpless, made a half-hearted gesture with the shirt in John's direction, and was surprised when the boy cooperatively raised his arms. Once the shirt was on, Bruce reached back and Alfred set the rest of the outfit into his hand. He knelt, and John raised one foot, then the other, lightly resting his hands on Bruce to steady himself as Bruce struggled to get the rest of his clothes on.

Now dressed again, John shrank back against the wall, still staring at Bruce.

"All right. Keep your clothes on when you're out here, John."

"..."

"Do you understand?"

"Yysss."

"All right. Do you want to go outside and play?"

 _"Yes!"_

"All right, let's go."

*some night in the cave

Bruce frowned when he heard Jason yelling, "Come back here and put your pants on, you little exhibitionist!" He turned away from the Batcomputer and found Jason chasing around John, who was naked _again_.

Bruce sighed and got up. "Let me try," he said, holding out his hand for the clothes.

"Does he do this often?" Jason complained, handing them over.

"He didn't used to, but it's started being a problem recently."

He approached, and John shrank away but didn't run. Bruce held out the clothes. "Get dressed, John. I told you that you need to wear clothes when you're outside your room."

John looked at the clothes, then at Bruce. He took a large step back in clear refusal.

Bruce tensed in anticipation of a fight that could so easily go very wrong. He picked the closest garment, which happened to be the shirt, and ordered in his Batman voice, "Raise your arms." He was already wondering what in the world he would do when John inevitably disobeyed, but to his surprise, John lifted his arms, not even looking frightened. Just as before, the child submitted willingly to being dressed.

"You don't want to dress yourself," Bruce realized slowly. "You don't want other people to dress you. You want to be dressed by me."

John wandered off, but Bruce stared after him for a while, thinking.

*except now the following scene, which I wrote a long time ago, doesn't work as well...

*over the next day or so, john keeps randomly pulling all his clothes off; adults will get busy for just a few minutes, then turn back and bam, naked nine-year-old. (though wouldn't they start dressing him in, like, one-piece outfits that'd be harder for him to take off?) john doesn't seem to be bothered at all, readily submits to being re-dressed by bruce, but avoids anyone else who tries to put his clothes on; stays silent when people are like " _Why_?"

John wouldn't let go of him, so he backed up until he could sit down on the couch. John curled up in his lap and snuggled even more closely into him.

"John, I need you to explain to me what's going on, why you keep doing this."

"Nno. Hhhug."

"I'll keep holding you, don't worry. Let go for just a minute so you can talk to me."

John simply tucked his face even more firmly into Bruce's neck and tightened his arms.

Bruce sighed and held him for a long time, until John's hug finally started to loosen. "John. Don't fall asleep. I need to ask you some questions."

John gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes.

"Why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep undressing in the middle of the house, for no reason? You didn't used to do this before."

 _"You put clothes on me, I feel safe."_

"By putting your-?" Bruce paused. "Do you...keep taking all your clothes off so that I'll put them back on you?"

 _"Yes."_

Bruce swallowed. "...Tell me what he did to you, John."

 _"No. It hurts you."_

Which was true, but he couldn't let John just keep repressing it, or whatever was happening by avoiding the topic. " _You_ need to talk about it, so I will listen to anything you say."

 _"No. I talk to family, not you. It hurts you."_

Bruce closed his eyes and rested his face against John's hair for a moment. "John...I hope you know how much I love you." He sensed John signing, so he raised his head again.

 _"He said he loved me, too, but I know he lied because he hurt me."_ Tears stung Bruce's eyes, but John wasn't finished. _"But you say you love me, I know it's true, because you are nice. I like nice you."_

Bruce held his boy tightly. He wished so much that he could protect John from his own past, but that wasn't possible. What he could protect his son from was the future, and he intended to keep doing that with everything in his power.

xXx


	107. SRD: Jack's puppy eyes

_The Birds Who Smile_ , a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Super rough draft: Seatbelt training (going around the front drive) / Making appointments and starting school montage / Jack's puppy eyes

Bruce didn't even try to tempt the kids with breakfast first; all four of them just wanted to get seatbelts out of the way.

This time, he asked Alfred to drive them around the manor's long front drive. Peter and Jack were so interested in the view out the windows that Bruce actually set the timer to count up rather than down, and they lasted nearly an entire circuit of the front grounds without noticing they were still buckled. With John, Bruce was more cautious, sticking to just a few seconds with the seatbelt buckled and giving the boy a colorful liquid timer to occupy him during the rest of the ride. John clutched the toy hard and desperately stared at it, Elephant squeezed under his arm.

Jack was the one who first noticed they were still restrained after several minutes, and protested with a loud, "HEY, WWASSA BBI'CKG I'DDEA, HUH?!"

"Are you watching too much TV?" Bruce wondered as they came to a stop in front of the house and he unbuckled Peter (Jack was already unbuckling himself). The youngest bird had lately been using more uncharacteristic phrases he had to have picked up from elsewhere. "Or are you watching YouTube videos when you're supposed to be sleeping?" The child's phone wasn't supposed to have Internet access, but the kid was Tim Drake; Bruce wouldn't put it past him to have somehow figured out how to get online.

"Ttimuh go dd _own_ , Daddy!" Jack complained, kicking at his father when Bruce tried to hand him ice cream.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I just wanted to see how long you'd last." He abruptly pulled the ice cream back before Jack could grasp it. "I'll give you this when you stop kicking me."

"AI CEAM!"

"Stop kicking, then you will get ice cream."

Jack paused and narrowed his eyes in a very calculating look that sort of gave Bruce chills. Peter had gone stiff and wide-eyed as he read his brother's body language, creeping out of the door when Alfred opened it but unable to tear his eyes away from his youngest brother. John started biting Elephant and stared even harder at the liquid timer, which he didn't turn even though the top half was now empty.

Jack's face cleared. Very deliberately, he said, "You ss' _tuppid_ , BBatman," and delivered quite a hard kick to Bruce's shin, then immediately cringed back, his expression a mix of rebellion and fear.

Bruce put the ice cream back in the cooler. "You'll get this later. Apparently you're not ready yet."

There was a pause. John's breath was coming a little hard, and Peter pressed against Alfred.

 _"STUPID BATMAN!"_ Jack signed fiercely, his face twisting. _"I HATE YOU! YOU ARE BAD!"_

"Don't call me 'Batman.' You can call me 'B' or 'Bruce.' "

Jack panted for a moment, then flipped Bruce off. His weak manual dexterity meant he had to use his other hand to correctly arrange his tiny little fingers, and the effect was more adorably ridiculous than obscene.

"Ffuck you! No ai ceam ffor Jjackie!"

"Ice cream later. You earned it for wearing your seatbelt, but it will be delayed until you behave." Bruce got out of the car and started to help John out.

Jack screamed and attacked Bruce, who fended him off and then tried to put some distance between them. Jack scrambled after him, but before his clawed hands could connect, Bruce caught his wrists and crouched down to his level. Jack immediately started pulling to get away, looking terrified.

"Ssorry ssorry Jjackie ssorry no no do not hhuht li'l bbaby-"

"Jack-"

" _crow_! _crow_!"

"Are you trying to make me lose my temper on purpose?"

Jack's struggling had changed from trying to get away to trying to get snuggly, but the way Bruce was holding him kept him anchored either way.

"Timothy Jackson, your brother John already did his worst. I didn't turn into the Man Who Laughs for him, and I certainly won't for you."

"Lle't- GGO...!"

Bruce let go, and Jack backed away fearfully. Not knowing what else to do, Bruce went to give the older boys their rewards.

Jack started to cry, standing there bawling with his hands hanging at his sides. The older boys cautiously approached, John twittering softly and Peter, whose mouth was still full of ice cream, reaching out to grasp his hand. Bruce leaned against the car and waited.

After a while, the sobs died away and Jack miserably let his brothers pull him toward the house, but he stopped when they came even with the car. He trudged over to Bruce and gazed up at him silently with those glistening baby blue eyes of his, face stained with tears and a trickle of snot making its way down his lip.

Bruce's heart melted, and he took out a handkerchief to wipe his baby bird's face. "Are you ready for your ice cream now?" he murmured.

 _"No ice cream for bad boy."_

"You wore your seatbelt, so you earned your ice cream. You should probably apologize for kicking, though."

 _"Sorry...very sorry, I hate bad boy-"_

"You're a good boy," Bruce said firmly, cupping his face. "I love you, Jack. All right?"

Jack studied him a minute. _"You love bad boys?"_

"I love _my_ boys, whether they're bad or good, and you're my boy, so I love you."

Once they all got inside, he put on a video, and as soon as he sat down, Jack curled up in his lap and clung to him. Peter giggled and cuddled into his side, and John climbed up the back of the couch to perch on his shoulders.

*hopefully this is the last one and they get a therapist very soon after this who points out that bruce should have trained them in relaxation techniques first (unless he just doesn't tell them about the seatbelt issue. but the kids would probably mention it during therapy sessions)

*before I realized that, there was going to be a scene...later on where bruce starts to teach john relaxation techniques as a strategy for...a certain thing that's a spoiler, and he has a giant Facepalm Moment when he realizes he should have taught it to them for the seatbelt thing

xXx

*now that john's no longer trying to kill bruce and the kids' documentation is finally in order (i don't know if this will stay a montage or get expanded into real time in the final draft):

Bruce had...quite a few reservations about trusting mental health professionals with his youngest, most vulnerable children, so he procrastinated by starting with a speech therapist, an ASL instructor, and a general education tutor. He waited a few weeks to make sure the boys did well with them, which they did. (At least, Peter and Jack did. John would cooperate on some days, but then do...the opposite of cooperation on others.)

After some experimentation, they found that it worked best for the tutor to start the day with some warm-up activities, the speech therapist to work with the kids for an hour, the tutor to teach the day's lessons before lunch, and the ASL instructor to work with the kids while they did homework after lunch. It kept the children occupied all day, and the younger boys seemed pretty happy with it.

"John," Bruce asked on a bad day, "why are you upset?"

 _"Bored!"_

"What do you want to be doing instead?"

 _"I want SMALL people! No more big people!"_

"...You want to talk to children your own age."

 _"Big people say 'Do that do that do that,' I say NO. Tired. Hungry."_

"You're hungry?"

John gave him an annoyed look as if Bruce had missed the point.

"All right, Johnny. I'll see if I can find a class to enroll you in."

The Wayne Foundation was still preoccupied dealing with fallout from the Batpocalypse, but Bruce was able to persuade them to restart some of the extracurricular programs that they'd been running before Barbatos. Bruce signed up John for a gymnastics class and a music class, so twice a week, the boy was taken into town. The younger children at first clamored to go, too, but Jack hated both classes and gave up after just a week and a half. Peter got frustrated with gymnastics but was happier with flag football, then got sucked into a book club, so that made three trips into town a week. Bruce carefully monitored their progress until they seemed to be ready for school.

Although the public schools were more-or-less functioning again, Gotham Academy and the other elite private schools were taking their time rebuilding and still educating students via the Internet rather than on campus. Very few specialized schools had recovered yet, either, which meant that, at least for the time being, Bruce had to trust his kids with the public school special education program.

It was difficult to find a good fit for the boys. John and Peter were initially placed in the Adapted Learning class, but it did nothing for them on an academic level. The school was short-staffed and didn't have an assistant to spare to accompany Jack into a gen ed class, so Bruce repurposed the boys' tutor. Then John frightened an administrator enough to prompt her to transfer him to the behavior unit, but that classroom was also short-staffed and John kept wandering out to find his brothers whenever one of the other students had an episode and stole all the teacher's attention.

Then Peter started getting in trouble, though it turned out that was because he kept coming to the defense of Jack, who was apparently being bullied during lunch and recess when his tutor wasn't there to bodyguard him. Jack started refusing to go to school altogether, and Peter was becoming more and more violent in addition to learning basically nothing outside of the books he read for fun, so Bruce gave up and had the younger boys homeschooled again, hiring a second tutor to work with John in gen ed. That seemed to work out best, since John was actually learning now while still being socialized with peers and didn't have to worry about his baby brothers, who both seemed happier learning quietly at home at their own pace.

Meanwhile, Bruce had finally found a therapist he reluctantly decided to half-trust. Even if his OCD hadn't compelled him to spy on her sessions with the children, he still would have, anyway - after Harley Quinn, Dr. Strange, and basically every other mental health professional he knew of, there was no way he was going to let one stay alone with his battered little ones.

The first session was simple enough: she had them drawing pictures. John lay on the floor and languidly colored an entire page solid blue. Peter drew a picture of Titus and then another one of the Batman Who Laughs lying in a pool of blood with a giant rock and about thirty swords and arrows raining down on him. Jack impatiently threw down the crayon after about three seconds and started taking photographs instead, proudly choosing as the best one an image of his own foot pressed against Peter's.

John, when asked about his artwork, would only say that it made him happy. Peter gushed about how great Titus was for fifteen minutes and then, when *the therapist* finally managed to switch his attention to the other drawing, pressed his middle finger against the depiction of his abuser. Jack rambled half-intelligibly about his photo, something about warm and safe and together.

xXx

*fam's hanging out in the living room or something, jack's in bruce's lap on the couch

"Maybe tomorrow, Jack, all right?"

Jack turned his face up to Bruce, shoulders slumped, big blue-and-gold eyes shimmering, little mouth just a tiny bit downturned. ["But...Daddy...it is important, okay? Please, Daddy..."]

Bruce's heart was twisting, but he forced himself to hold firm. "Tomorrow. All right, Jack? Tomorrow we will go *do the thing*."

Jack said nothing, but after a pause, he gradually faceplanted into Bruce's chest, and Bruce automatically put his arms around the child. Another pause later, Jack made one of his sad kitten noises. Then another.

Bruce couldn't _stand_ it. "Tell you what, if you do another *school assignment?* and score _at least_ 90%-" The rest of the bargain was drowned out by everyone's laughter.

Jack, focused only on his father, shifted his face to look at Bruce again and gave a tentative, hopeful smile. ["Jackie is a good boy, we *do the thing*?"]

" _If_ you score at least 90%, then yes."

Jack straightened up a bit, patted Bruce's chest, and said gently, ["You are a good daddy."] Bruce's heart violently finished melting.

"Oh, Bruce, come ON!" Tim burst out. "He's playing you like a _harp_ , can you seriously not see that?!"

"I'm not just _giving_ him what he wants. We made a bargain," Bruce said defensively.

"You'll do _anything_ if a kid bats their eyes at you just right."

"Don't tip him off," Dick called across the room.

"Doesn't matter. Watch." Tim hoisted himself up to perch on the back of the couch beside Bruce. It was a childish move that emphasized how young he still was. "Dad?"

"Yes?" Bruce said warily, trying to fight the glow in his heart with the fact that Tim _obviously_ had ulterior motives for calling him 'Dad.'

"So..." Tim dropped his head, fiddling with a seam on the couch. "I know that, like, you just promised to take Jackie this afternoon and all, but I'd been hoping-" He hesitated, then exhaled and slithered down until he was cuddled right into Bruce's side. "Never mind," he mumbled, turning his face into Bruce's arm. "It's not important."

Bruce stared, aware of the gleeful gazes of his watching family. He tried to wait it out, but Tim didn't waver, continuing to lean against him, even getting caught up in a thumb war with the giggling Jack. "Tim," he finally said, "whatever it is, you're not getting it, just tell me what you were going to say."

"It wasn't really anything," Tim shrugged. The shirt he was wearing just happened to be big enough that it slipped to the side, baring vulnerable skin between his neck and shoulder.

Bruce stared. It _had_ to have been deliberate, but he'd been _watching_ , and the gesture had looked so _natural_. Just that one small detail made Tim look even younger, especially combined with his vaguely hunched shoulders and effortlessly boneless pose. "...Just say it, and then I'll tell you no."

Tim sighed and shifted away from Bruce, looking very alone now that he wasn't making physical contact with anyone. He'd folded his legs up, knees high, hands casually curled between his feet, shoulders curved and head bowed so that his body formed an almost egg-like shape, still so _small_ even at his age. "I can do it on my own," he mumbled. "The notes I've been working on for the * case. I wondered if you could take a look at it today, give me some pointers, but it can wait...maybe tomorrow, I guess; I'll just do my best in the meantime and hope it's good enough..."

"Tim, that's not even a big favor; I would be _happy_ to look over the case with you."

The others were making noises in the background, but Bruce was distracted by the tremulous hope on his son's face when Tim raised his head. "Now?"

"Well, not right this minute, but maybe in an hour or two-"

He was not prepared for a sly grin to split Tim's face and the forlorn body language to shift into something victoriously catlike, legs now casually stretched out and arm resting along the back of the couch. "You mean _right_ around the time you promised your six-year-old to *do the thing*?" Tim drawled, smirking.

Bruce's face suddenly felt flooded with heat. "Wait-" The rest of the family was _howling_ with laughter by now, Jason actually rolling on the floor in tears as an alarmed Peter shook his shoulder.

["What is funny?"] Jack yelled.

"Awww, Timmy," Dick crooned, going over to wrap his arms around Tim, "I'll be _happy_ to help you out since Dad will be busy."

"I don't need help, I was just proving a point," Tim snorted, trying to swat him away.

"Regardless, you will surely benefit from another's input," Damian announced, pausing beside the couch. "Show me your work, Timothy, and I will show you how to improve it."

"What?! No! I don't _want_ help!"

"C'mon, Timbo," Jason said, scooping his brother into his arms and carrying him off.

"What the heck! Put me _down_ , I was making fun of Bruce and Jack, I'm not _actually_ cute! JASON TODD! Cass, Duke, help!"

"Worked," Cass called after them.

"Too well," Duke laughed.

Bruce looked at Alfred pleadingly. "I don't let my children walk all over me, do I?"

"*ahem* I have some work to do in the kitchen. Please excuse me, Master Bruce."

"Alfred!"

xXx


End file.
